It's All Fun and Games
by LindaO
Summary: Summary: A Company trainee falls apart in the field, and it's left to Robert McCall and Lily Romanov – with an assist from Mickey Kostmayer – to see if they can put the pieces back together and salvage her career. Author's Note: This story stands alone, but is a continuation of my EQ-verse stories. In the timeline, it follows "Christmastime in the City".
1. Chapter 1

Lily Romanov unlocked her desk drawer. The lock was looser than it had been last time. She pulled the drawer open and stared down at the pencil tray. It was empty again. She swore softly and stood up. The favorite pastime, here in the Company's basement maze of cubicles, was breaking into each other's desks. She wondered why they bothered putting locks on them at all.

She scanned the warren and picked a likely target. Before she could take a step away from her desk, the phone buzzed. She snagged it, reaching for her pocket knife with her free hand. "Romanov."

"My office," Control said, very softly and very firmly. "Right now."

"Okay. What's …" He was already gone.

Lily didn't bother locking her desk; there was nothing left in it to steal. She sprinted out of her cubicle and down to the elevators. Her mind spun swiftly, efficiently. She knew that tone in Control's voice. Someone was in big trouble, and it was probably her. She couldn't remember anything she'd screwed up lately.

She stabbed the elevator call button once, waited five seconds, stabbed it repeatedly. "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered. She noticed that she still had her knife in her hand and put it away.

If it wasn't something she'd done, then something had happened to him. Or someone had found out about their extracurricular relationship. Or else … or else what?

The elevator finally arrived. She pressed the button for the seventh floor and held it down. By design, it bypassed all other stops and floors – a little feature she'd learned from Control.

She trotted down the hall to his office. The inner door was shut, but his secretary, Sue, waved her past frantically. "Go on, go on," she said quietly. "They need you."

"They?" Lily asked. She didn't wait for the answer, just opened the door and moved silently into the office.

They – Control and Simms – were at Control's desk, hunched anxiously over the speaker phone. "Nancy?" Simms said tightly. "Nancy, you still with me?"

There was a long, static-filled pause, and then a very small voice said, "Y-y-yes."

"All right, you hang in there, we're going to help you." Control nodded his head, and Simms followed his gaze, held one arm out to bring Lily closer to the desk. "Nancy, you remember Lily Romanov? You met her at the Wall party. She's here now, she's going to talk to you, okay?"

Another pause. "O-o-okay."

Lily frowned at the two men, looking for explanation. Control began scribbling on a pad. His silence confirmed what she'd suspected: Nancy had no idea the big boss was listening to the conversation. Probably just as well. "Hey, Nancy," she said to the speaker phone. "You sound scared, sweetie."

"S-s-so scared, I'm so scared."

Control slid the pad across the desk. Lily scanned it quickly, sank into the chair. Prague. She'd always hated Prague. She took a deep breath. "So Vince is dead, huh?"

There was a sob. "It's my fault, it's my fault …"

"Stop that," Lily said firmly. "Are you sure he's dead? Did you get a chance to check?"

"I didn't check, I didn't check, I just ran … I just ran away. But I know he's dead, I know he is."

The three in the office shared a look. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. All they had was the word of a panicked trainee in the field that her training officer had been shot. Lily looked to Simms. "Where's the packet?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Don't know," he whispered back.

"Nancy," Lily said firmly, "where's the packet?"

"The … what?"

"The packet, where's the packet? Did you meet your contact yet?"

"Contact … yes. We met him."

"And he has the packet?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Did you see who shot Vince?"

There was more silence, and then more sobbing. "I didn't see, I didn't see. I just … he fell, I heard the shots, I just ran."

Control tapped the desk for their attention. "Fell first?" he mouthed. "Fell before she heard them?"

Romanov and Simms both nodded. "Nancy, go back," Lily said. "Vince fell before you heard the shots?"

"Y-y-yes."

"You're sure?"

The trainee paused. "He fell, there was … I turned and he … and then I heard them." Her voice took a hysterical edge. "It's a sniper, isn't it?"

"How far did you run, Nancy?" Simms asked quickly.

"I ran … I ran … I don't know. A couple blocks."

Control shook his head. A sniper that good, firing from that far – even if she'd run the right direction, she might not be out of range. "She needs to move," he whispered.

"I'm not sure she can," Simms whispered back.

"Nancy, where are you now?" Lily asked.

"In a phone booth."

"Yes, but where?"

"I don't know. I don't know. It's a sniper, isn't it? I didn't run far enough, I didn't … how did they find us? It's my fault, it's my fault …"

"Look out of the booth," Lily said firmly. "Are you on a corner?"

"Y-y-yes."

"What does the street sign say?"

"There's no … there's no sign."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay," she said patiently. "Where were you when Vince got shot?"

The woman told them. A main street, a busy street, in the middle of the oldest part of the city. Lily knew exactly where she'd been. "What direction did you run?" she asked.

"North," Nancy answered with certainty.

"Two blocks?"

"Yes."

Lily sat back, frowning. "What?" Control asked quietly.

"There's no phone booth there," Lily answered.

"Maybe they added it," Simms offered.

Lily shook her head. "Are you sure you went north?" she asked out loud.

"I'm sure," Nancy insisted. Her voice was becoming hysterical again. "You've got to help me, you've got to help me!"

"We'll help you," Lily soothed. "Just give us a minute to find a safe place for you. Breathe. You're all right. We're not going to leave you. We're right here with you."

"We don't have a damn thing in that part of town," Simms murmured.

"The Germans do," Lily answered. "They've got a safe house four blocks from there."

Control raised one eyebrow. She knew that exactly how? But he didn't ask. The Germans were technically allies. The rookie wasn't carrying anything that would be compromised. "You have the number?"

She reached for his pen and scrawled a telephone number on his paper. "But we have to find out where she really is." She leaned forward again. "Nancy, I want you to look around. Tell me what buildings are around you."

"I … I … there's a church across the street."

"What kind of church?"

"It has a dome. A gold dome."

"Orthodox," Control muttered. "One or two?"

"Is there more than one dome?" Lily asked.

"There's … there's two. Two domes. One big and shiny and one smaller, older."

Lily and Control nodded in unison. They both knew where she was. The rookie hadn't run north; she'd gone east. She was closer to the safe house than Lily had hoped. "Okay," she said, "okay. Give us just a couple minutes, we're setting something up, just hang in there with us, we're right here, we're not going anywhere …"

She was very good at the chant. Control nodded his approval, took the number and stepped out to Sue's desk. He was back in ninety seconds, nodding.

"Okay," Lily said again. "Nancy, I want you to listen to me. We're going to send you to a safe house. It's German, but they're expecting you, okay? They'll take care of you until our own people can come get you. You understand?"

"German … okay."

"All right. I need you to listen to these instructions, and then I need you to go. You're going to leave the phone booth, you're going to cross the street and walk north past the church two blocks. There's a gray stone house on the right side of the street. Go to the side door and knock, they'll be waiting for you. All right?"

"I can't."

"Nancy, you have got to move. You're not safe there. Just cross the street and …"

"I _can't_."

"Nancy," Simms attempted, "you have to move. They can't come and get you. You have to make your own way to the safe house."

"_I can't_," Nancy wailed. She began to cry again.

"Why not?" Lily asked calmly, though her hands were balled in white-knuckled fists.

"Vince's … he's … his head, his brains … I was talking to him and he … and he … on my shirt, on my … his _brains_ …" Her voice spiraled into a high-pitched wail. "It's all my fault! It's all my fault!"

Lily took a long, slow breath. Her head felt suddenly light. The rookie couldn't leave the phone booth because her training officer's brains were splattered all over her shirt. Any lingering hope that Vince Norris wasn't really dead was gone. There was a hand on her shoulder, firm and supporting. She glanced up, surprised. Control was still in his seat; it was Simms, standing behind her, who tried to comfort her.

She met her lover's eyes for an instant. Then she looked away. There was too much that he couldn't say, or even show, right now. The distance between them hurt too much.

Besides, if he was kind to her, she was going to cry.

Nancy's hysterics began to wind down. Lily took a deep breath. "All right, Nancy, do you still have your backpack with you?"

"My … what?"

"Your backpack. Do you still have it with you?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Turn it over. See the zipper compartment on the bottom?"

Assured that she was together, Simms released Lily's shoulder and sat back down.

"Yes," Nancy sniffed.

"Open it. There's a flat nylon packet, square, blue or red."

"Uh-huh."

"It's a windbreaker. Unzip it, unfold it, put it on."

"I … I …"

"Just do it."

There was a long pause, with a lot of shuffling and movement. Finally, Nancy came back to the phone. "Okay," she sniffed.

"Okay," Lily breathed. "Cross the street, go north of the church. Two blocks, gray house on the right. Got it?"

"I got it." There was another pause. "I'm so scared."

"I know you are, sweetie. Two blocks, and then you're safe. Okay? Just go. Don't think, don't look around, just let the phone hang and go."

"'kay."

The phone fell silent.

The three in the office slumped back in their chairs in unison.

"Well done," Control said quietly, to both his subordinates.

"The Germans will call us when they have her?" Simms asked.

Control nodded. "And our own team is out to retrieve Norris, if they can." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lily. I know you were close."

She shrugged, her eyes carefully blank. "What happened?"

Control looked to Simms, who shook his head. "I don't know. There was no warning, no sign of trouble. Whether they made Norris as a courier … I don't know."

"Talk to his contact," Control said. "And the station chief."

Simms nodded.

They fell silent, waiting for the phone to ring.

"This sucks," Lily pronounced.

"Welcome to _my_ world," Control murmured.

They waited, in silence.

Finally, the phone rang. Control snatched it, listened, hung up. "They have her. She's a mess."

Lily sank back even further, dropped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes. "And Vince?"

"Still waiting."

"What are we going to do with her?" Simms asked. "Nancy?"

Control sighed. "Review her file. See if she can be salvaged."

"She went to pieces in the field," Lily said grimly, her eyes still closed. "There's no getting past that."

"She was _wearing_ her training agent at the time," Simms pointed out.

"No chance."

"Spend some time with her," Control said. "Let us know."

Lily opened her eyes narrowly and regarded him darkly. "Pardon?"

"You're her new training agent."

"I am not."

"You are," Control pronounced, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm not trained to be a training agent."

"She's only got three weeks left," Simms countered. "A little paperwork. Nothing to it."

Lily glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"If she can be salvaged," Control said, "we need her."

"If she can't?"

"Then we'll put her on a desk somewhere. But she had potential. Spend some time with her. See."

Lily sat up straighter. "You want _me_ to decide if she can go back to the field?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Romanov," Control said precisely, "I'm not asking you."

Lily glared at him, too, but she sank back in her chair. "I'm not trained for this," she muttered.

The phone rang again. Control answered, listened, hung up. "Norris is confirmed," he said grimly.

Simms stood up and straightened his jacket. "I'll get the requests for info in before I go tell the family. The usual story?"

"I'll go," Control answered quietly, firmly.

The lieutenant opened his mouth, then closed it and merely nodded his gratitude.

"I'm going with you," Lily announced, with equal firmness.

The men looked at her, surprised. "His kids know me," she explained. "His wife knows me." She hesitated. "I owe him this much."

"I don't think …" Control began.

"And if you're sticking me with his trainee, you owe me this one," Lily answered.

He considered. "Get your car. I'll meet you out back. Twenty minutes."

She nodded and left.

Simms waited. "There's no chance, you know."

Control nodded. "There's _one_ chance, and she just left this office."


	2. Chapter 2

Control paused just inside the back door and looked around. He'd been shot there once, and while the chances of it happening in that exact spot again were remote, he wasn't one to take unnecessary chances. Satisfied, he left the building and crossed to the alley to the waiting Mercedes. He opened the driver's door expectantly. Lily sighed and got out. While he adjusted the seat and all the mirrors, she went around and got in the passenger side.

"You know where we're going?" Control asked.

Lily nodded. "I've been there for dinner a couple times."

"You don't have to come, you know."

"I know."

He adjusted the car's heater way down. The spring day had warmed considerably since Lily arrived at the office. "It won't be pleasant."

"Would you rather go alone?"

Control stopped fussing with the car and met her eyes. "No."

Lily nodded. "Jersey. Any way you like."

He drove. When they were clear of the office, Control slid his hand across the seat and caught her fingertips. "So," he said morosely, "alone at last."

"We should have come up with this excuse a long time ago," she agreed sadly.

They fell silent. Traffic was predictably snarly, and Control had to pay a fair amount of attention to driving. He should, he reflected, have called for his limo. Then he could work during the drive. He had a million things to get done, and this whole thing was blowing a major hole in his plans, an hour there, an hour back, who knew how long with the family …

He felt the familiar lurch in his stomach. Oh, yes, he wanted to be doing paperwork, or making phone calls, or planning, or approving expense reports and vacation requests or sitting in traffic or _anything_ but what he was doing.

How many of these visits had he made? There had been a time, years ago, when he knew exactly the number, exactly the names. Now there were too many. Too many to count. Too many to remember, all at once. One at a time, a group at a time, he could think about the men who had died under his orders. But not all at once. It was too many, too much to bear.

Not only men, he reflected, but women, too. Far fewer women, but certainly some, and all of them worthy of remembrance.

His long fingers rested loosely on Lily's. He stretched them out and wrapped them around her warm little hand. Squeezed, probably too hard, but she didn't pull away. Women had died, men had died, but Lily was still here with him. Right here, safe beside him, at least for now.

_At least for now._

"How can I help?" she asked quietly.

Quit your job, quit right now, he thought desperately. Let me keep you safe. If he said it aloud, she would do it, without hesitation, not because she wanted to but because he'd asked. Others would live or die at his command. This woman would change her whole life, change everything that she was and give up everything that she wanted, at his simple request.

Control shook his head. "Tell me about the family."

* * *

Nancy Campbell could not stop shivering.

She stood under the shower spray with her arms folded around her, her chin in her chest, and let the steaming water blanket her shoulders and back. Her skin was red wherever the water hit; she had it on its hottest setting. But even after ten minutes, she could not stop shivering.

Vince Norris, a small smile, some smart-ass comment on his lips, and then his comfortable brown face simply exploded …

The sound was the worst, the crack and then the splat, the warm wet that seeped immediately through her t-shirt …

Nancy retched, doubling over towards the drain, but nothing came up. Everything she'd eaten that day had long since exited.

She lifted her face to the screaming hot water to rinse it, and shivered violently.

She'd run away. She'd run even before his body hit the sidewalk. If he'd been alive, she'd left him to die alone. But of course he wasn't alive. Not with his brains soaking through her shirt. He never knew he'd been hit, never knew he was falling. Never knew she'd run away before he hit the ground.

And if he'd known, Nancy realized dimly, he would have nodded approvingly and said, "Good girl." Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded patronizing. Coming from Vince, it was a small gift of joy.

He would never call her good girl again.

She closed her eyes and let her chin fall again. She wondered if she still had a job.

James Simms was her boss. She'd met him, but she didn't really know him. He'd been very kind on the telephone. Very soothing. But he hadn't really been much help. That had been Lily. Simms had given her comfort, but Lily had given her concrete instructions, practical help. Put on the windbreaker, cover the brains, and go. Without Lily, Nancy thought, she might be dead on the street right now.

Lily Romanov. Lily who could do the impossible. Everywhere Nancy had been in the Company, people knew Lily. Nancy was Vince's good girl, but Lily was his golden girl. Lily was everybody's friend. Nancy had been fully prepared to hate her. Then she'd met her, and she couldn't. Lily was Control's favorite …

And oh, what did Control think of her now? She had danced with him, had spent three minutes in his arms, looking into those blue eyes – she'd expected them to be hard, serious, but that night they had been gentle, laughing – hearing that deep, resonant voice. God, she had such a crush on that man. Stupid, pointless, no future in it, but there it was. Only now he must think her an idiot, a weakling. Or worse.

Nancy groaned quietly. She wished she could talk to Mark. And hadn't Lily simply plucked her from Control's arms and thrown her into Mark's? Sweet and shy and fascinating Mark, with the scar and the story to go with it, sweet protective Mark. She wished she could see him, she wished she could hide in his arms. At the same time, she dreaded seeing him. Seeing the pity and understanding in his eyes. You ran and left your trainer – your partner – for dead. Well, anyone would, in those circumstances. Nothing you could do for him. Perfectly understandable. Mark would understand. Everybody would understand.

The Germans at the safe house had understood. The great bear of an American who'd come to claim her had understood. The grungy agents roaming the safe house had understood.

What none of them understood, though, was the one thought that Nancy Campbell could not put out of her mind.

If things had been different, she was absolutely certain that Vince Norris would never have left _her_.

She rested one shoulder against the shower wall and began to weep.

* * *

For my sins, Lily thought grimly, my wish has been granted. All the times I wanted to see him in the field. And here we are, together at last.

She felt sick.

Vince Norris' house was just like every other house on the block, modest, with a tiny yard and a bed of daffodils waving cheerfully yellow. Just an ordinary house, basking in the spring sun, waiting for the kids to come home from school, maybe play a little catch on the newly green lawn.

It was all so normal it hurt.

Lily wrapped her arms around herself. We are coming to drop a bomb on this house, she thought sadly. It is a happy house right now. When we leave it will never be the same. These people, this family – we have come to tear them apart. I know these people. I have shared their meals, shared their father. I do not want to destroy their happiness. I want some stranger to come and tell them that their world has been destroyed. Some stranger who can go away and never think about them again. Not me. Not me.

And not _him_.

She sighed and followed Control across the street.

He glanced at her. "You can wait in the car."

You'd let me off the hook, she thought gratefully. But who lets _you_ off the hook? She shook her head. "I'm okay."

"Just follow my lead."

"I always do."

Control half-smiled. "I know."

It was, Lily knew, a sign of his confidence in her that he'd let her come along. He trusted her at his side in this. He would have trusted her at his back with a gun, but this was harder, in its way.

He paused at the bottom of the porch steps and let her go first. Lily reached for the doorbell. Her hand shook visibly. Control put his hand on her shoulder, firmly, and she could feel his calm run through her. He trusts me. If he believes I can do this, I can do this. She rang the bell.

Irena Norris came to the door. She saw Lily first and smiled, surprised. "Well, hello, honey, I wasn't expecting …"

The smile cut through Lily like quicksilver. Oh, please, don't be glad to see me, don't be. "I'm so sorry," she stammered.

Irena saw Control, and her smile froze. She had never met him, but she knew who he was. "Oh." She glanced at Lily, understanding her words. Understanding everything.

Control shifted. "Mrs. Norris, I'm very sorry …"

"No."

Lily felt sicker still. "Irena …"

"No, no," she answered calmly. "No. You come in this house. You come in and sit down and let me get you some coffee. You've had a long drive. Come in, come in."

They followed her into the living room. It was a neat room, modest and a bit worn, absolutely spotless. "Sit down, sit down," Irena said, still calmly. "I'll put some fresh coffee on."

She went into the kitchen. Lily glanced at Control, bewildered. He sat on the couch and gestured for her to join him. "Wait."

Mrs. Norris came back and perched on the edge of the armchair across from them. "Vince is dead," she said flatly.

"Yes," Control answered. "We're very sorry."

She nodded vacantly. "His little gal. She's okay?"

"She's not hurt," Control answered. "She's pretty shaken up."

"I imagine she is. Poor little thing. Vince's gals always get so attached to him. Well, you know," she said, gesturing to Lily.

"I know," Lily agreed. She wanted to move, to put her arms around her friend's new widow. But Irena was stiff. She didn't want comfort. Not yet.

"I was just washing the dishes," Irena explained, as if she'd been talking about that all along. "I need to get them finished up. Once the kids get home, they just trash the kitchen all over again with their snacks. The only way I can keep ahead of them is to have it done before they get here. So I can start again." And then she went on, "He looks after them just like they were his own. Every one of them. All these pretty girls, like his own." She looked to Control. "You give him all the pretty ones on purpose, don't you?"

Control did not, Lily noted, correct her assumption that he made the training assignments; in her mind Control and the Company at large were the same. Close enough for government work. "We know we can trust him with them," he answered.

"Vince comes home," the woman went on, "he says, Irena, I've got a new one. And I ask him, is she pretty? And he says, prettier than the last one, but not as pretty as you. Every time. Every time." She paused, reality piercing her calm again. "Did he … did he suffer?"

"No," Control answered. "He was killed instantly." It was the truth, in this case, but Lily knew he would have lied if he'd needed to. "He never even knew he was in danger."

Irena nodded, sprang to her feet. "I'll see if the coffee's ready."

Lily looked to Control again. "Uhhhhh …"

He shook his head. "She's trying not to know. Give it time."

She sat back and took a deep breath. The whole situation was surreal. The quiet, tidy house. Vince's wife, so concerned about the house, grief barely touching her smooth brown features. The tiny flashes when she knew everything, and then drowned her knowledge again in the mundane. Make coffee. Finish the dishes.

And Control. Impossibly still, calm. Answering the questions briefly as they arose. Waiting.

Lily wanted to grab the woman by both arms and shake her, to scream into her face, 'Don't you understand? Vince is _dead_!' To shake some reaction onto that that serene face.

His blue eyes turned to her, studied her, and he read her every thought. "I know," he said. His voice was flat, calm – and she heard the torrent of emotion he did not reveal.

Irena came back with two fine china cups, balanced on saucers. "I know you take yours black," she said to Lily. She looked to Control, hesitated. "But I wasn't sure …"

"Black's fine," he assured her, taking the cup.

The woman perched on the edge of the chair again. "The kids will be home from school soon."

"Do you want me to go pick them up?" Lily offered.

"No, no. Let them walk. Let them …" She hesitated, and for the first time her pain showed in her eyes. "Let them have a few more minutes." Irena popped to her feet again. "I have to finish the dishes. I have to …" She gestured around the room. "I always keep the house clean when Vince is out of the country. Always keep it spotless. Just in case, you know? If I have a lot of visitors unexpectedly, I don't want them thinking … that I'm not much of a housekeeper …" She put her hand up and patted her hair absently. "And now I don't give a damn what they think about my housekeeping!"

Control rose smoothly to his feet. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "What … what do I tell them? What do I say?"

"That he was killed in a car accident on a business trip."

"A car accident."

"Yes."

She blinked. "How did he die?" she asked firmly.

"He was shot."

"He didn't suffer."

"No."

Irena considered for a long moment. She looked at Lily for another moment. "I have to finish the dishes." She went out again.

Lily reached for Control's cup, set it on the coffee table. "Is it always like this?" she asked quietly.

"No. Sometimes the screaming starts right away." He held his hand out to her, helped her to her feet. Held her hand for one moment more.

They went into the kitchen. Irena Norris was standing in front of the sink, her hands flat on the counter, weeping silently. The tears were a perverse relief to Lily. She put her arm around the woman, and Irena turned into her embrace. "It can't be," she muttered through her tears. "It just can't be."

"I'm so sorry," Lily murmured back. "I'm so sorry." She looked over Irena's shoulder to Control. This pain, she knew, he recognized, he shared. He would rather not have shared with her, and he was uniquely grateful she was there to help him carry it.

Irena straightened up, brushed her eyes impatiently. "I've got to get these dishes done," she said firmly. "I won't have people think I don't keep a good house."

"Lily will wash dishes," Control declared. Before the woman could protest, he went on. "I'll dry. You put away, you know where things go."

The woman studied him again. She clearly didn't know what to make of him, this man with the fearsome reputation and the kind voice. This spymaster who was already drying her smallest sauce pan. "All right," she agreed. She took the pot from him and put it away.

Control glanced at Lily and she moved to the sink. She understood everything from the glance. The dishes were insignificant. But they were, at that moment, the most important thing in Irena's world. The one thing she could still control, as her world slid out from under her.

A few minutes passed in silence. "I feel as if I should have a million questions," Irena said quietly.

"You will," Control assured her. "I'll leave you my card. In a few days, or a few months, when you have questions, you can call me. Or Lily, if you'd prefer. If she doesn't have the answers, she always has my ear."

Irena nodded slowly. She looked at the young woman. "You're all grown up now, aren't you? You were such a wild little thing, and now look at you. All grown up. Vince was so proud of you."

The unexpected warmth of the words cut through Lily yet again. She closed her eyes very tightly, waiting for the tears to drain away. She was not going to cry, not here, not now. Vince was not hers to cry over.

"He had some pictures on his desk," Irena continued. "Can you get them for me?"

Lily nodded, opening her eyes. "Of course. I'll bring his personal things to you."

The woman nodded. "I should call his sister," she said. She took a cookie sheet from Control's hands, thunked it onto the table. "I should call her."

"All right."

She went to the little yellow princess phone in its neat nook, next to the memo pads and the sharpened pencils. She dialed the number from memory and listened. Lily could hear the other end ring. Two, then three rings, and then a breathless female voice, "Hello?"

"It's Irena. I … I …"

She crumbled.

Control strode to her side, supported her fainting form with one arm and took the phone with his free hand. "Hello? You've Vince's sister? I'm an associate of his. There's been an accident. Yes, on his business trip. I'm afraid he's been killed."

Irena Norris began to wail. Lily wiped her hands on her pants and put her arms around the woman, slid her out of Control's grasp, half-carried her into the living room and huddled with her on the couch. Irena continued to wail, her cries growing to screams of grief. It was a grief Lily was more familiar with, and yet there was nothing she could do to help. She kept one hand on Irena's arm, the other around her back, held her and rocked her, but there was nothing more to do.

"We're here, Irena," Control said soothingly. Lily looked up. He was on the couch on the far side of the new widow, and his hand met hers on the woman's back. "We're here. You're not alone. You're not going to be alone."

"My Vince! My Vince! It can't be! It can't be!"

"Irena," Lily began, "I'm so sorry …"

"No, no, you don't understand." The woman sat up suddenly, pulling away from both of them. She wiped her eyes impatiently. "When Rochelle was born, when our oldest was born, Vince promised, he promised. He got out of the field, he went to Training, he promised. He said he'd be home every night. Every night. He said he'd see our children grow up. He promised. He promised _me_. And Vince never broke a promise in his whole life. Not to me."

She pushed away from them and stood up. "So you see," she said logically, "you see, you're just wrong. You're wrong. Vince can't be dead. He can't be."

"Irena …" Lily began.

Control stood up. "Mrs. Norris …"

Irena held her hands up. "You should go." She wiped her eyes, pushed her hair into place again. "The children will be home soon. If they see you … if they see you … no. I want to tell them. I should tell them. You need to go. You need to go now."

"Irena …" Lily began again.

Control stopped her with a touch on her arm. He brought a card out of his jacket pocket. "You can call me, or you can call Lily. Any time. Understand? Any time at all."

Irena took the card with trembling fingers. "Wh-when can I have him? His – his body?"

"It will take a few days to bring him home. We'll let you know as soon as we can."

She took a deep breath. "I don't … mean to be … you should go."

She showed them to the door abruptly, and all but slammed it behind them.

* * *

Lily hesitated on the front steps. "Shouldn't we …"

"No," Control said. "Get in the car."

Lily followed him across the street and slid into the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

"I don't think we should leave her alone."

Control nodded, started the car, and gunned it out of its parking space. "I agree."

"Oh."

He squealed the car around the first turn to the right and hit the accelerator again. At the next corner, he turned right again.

Lily cleared her throat after the third two-wheeled corner. "They probably have speed limits here in the provinces."

"Uh-huh." He reached the fourth corner, slid around it, and then stood on the brakes. The car left three feet of rubber on the road, but it stopped in a perfectly straight line. A band of pedestrian teenagers moseyed across the street in front of them. When the students cleared, Control nudged around into the first parallel packing spot. They were back on the street where Vince Norris had lived, eight doors down from the agent's home. He turned the car off again. "The sister said she'd be right over."

"Ahh." Lily settled deeper into the leather seat. "Is it wrong to feel this relieved?" she asked.

"No," he answered briskly. "Well, probably yes." He looked at her, his blue eyes undeniably relieved as well. "You did well. Thank you for coming with me."

"Is it always like this?"

"It's always different," Control answered. "You can never tell which ones will cry quietly, which ones will go for your throat – or for your gun. But this one isn't prone to suicide, not with the children coming home." He shook his head. "I wish I couldn't see both sides of that."

"Of having a family?"

He rested his wrists on top of the steering wheel, gestured with his long fingers. "She's not alone. Vince is gone, but she still has a family. Someone to lean on, and someone who needs her."

"What's the down side?" Lily asked.

"He lied to those children every day of their lives. They have no idea who their father really was, what he did. And if they ever find out, they'll resent the lies far longer than they'll respect the work he did." He sighed, rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. "Vince Norris served his country well and long, and died for it, and no one will ever even know."

"_We_ know."

"Yes. And we can hardly bear to remember. And the ones who went before him, we can't remember at all."

Lily reached across and put her hand on his thigh, squeezed warmly. "_Kedves_."

He put his hand down to cover hers. "I hate this. I _hate_ this."

"I know, love." And then, "There."

A bright blue mini-van pulled into the driveway of the Norris house. A black woman got out and rushed to the door; Irena threw herself into her arms there on the porch and they disappeared inside.

Control sighed. "Let's get out of here."

"Um … can I drive?" Lily asked timidly.

"No." He put the car in gear and pulled onto the street again, this time at a nearly reasonable speed. "Call Simms."

Lily dialed the car phone. When she had Simms on the line, she put him on the speaker.

"What've you got?" Control demanded without preamble.

"There's a sniper in a church tower in the center of the city."

"Yes, we knew that," Control snarled.

"So far he's killed three and wounded seven. Various ages, various nationalities – all of them people of color." Simms cleared his throat. "The police have a strike team closing in on him. He's already shot two of them. They're bringing in his mother and a priest to try to talk him down."

Control squinted. "You're telling me that a Czech national has gone insane with a sniper rifle and is killing foreigners?"

"That's what it looks like."

"And that Vince Norris was shot because he's black, not because he works for us?"

"Based on the information I have at this time," Simms hedged.

"Bullshit."

"We're still working it," Simms assured him. "Looking for connections between the victims, maybe Vince was the target and the rest are cover – we're looking, Control. But until they identify the shooter …"

"Keep me posted," Control snapped. He punched the speaker and cut off the call.

"It is possible," Lily ventured, five miles later.

"Possible," Control conceded. "But I don't want anybody jumping at the easiest explanation. I want the truth." He threaded the Mercedes onto the freeway and glanced at his watch. "Oh, look, we'll be back just in time for afternoon rush hour."

"Joy." Lily settled back and looked out her window.

Two exits later, he said, "Are you hungry?"

"I feel like I shouldn't be."

"Yes, but are you?"

"Yes."

"Good." He exited the freeway and looked for a restaurant.

* * *

"You can't take me out to dinner," Lily murmured as they followed the hostess to a table by the window.

"I can and I am," Control answered. "And I'm going to expense it, too. Legitimate Company business."

"There's an oxymoron."

He held her chair, then took his own. "Wine?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't think I'd better even start drinking today."

Control nodded his agreement, ordered iced tea for both of them, and studied the menu.

"I feel like we should have done more for her," Lily said quietly. "We just sorta … left her."

"There's a packet," Control said. "Information about insurance, survivor benefits, support groups. You can take it out to her when you take Vince's pictures. But that's not what she wants today." Lily looked at him quizzically. "She wants her husband to be alive, Lily. That's all she wants. We can't give her that. And all the kind words and casseroles in the world won't even blunt the edge."

Lily nodded solemnly. She glanced over the menu as well. "Something starchy and comforting."

"Something soft and filling," Control agreed.

They both ordered the turkey dinner – stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy. Comfort food. The waitress brought them a basket of warm sour-dough bread.

"I wish I could have stayed to help tell the kids," Lily said.

"Better this way," Control countered. To her questioning look, he explained, "This way you can still be their father's friend, the Lily they knew. Not the one who told them he was dead. It's better, believe me."

She sighed, unsatisfied, and reached for another piece of the bread.

"We live by the word and by the gun," Control said quietly. "And when words fail and guns won't help, we are lost."

"Robert McCall?"

"Yes." He reached for his own bread, picked a bite precisely off the crust. "This is the worst part. Even when you're telling them, at least you're doing _something_. It's afterwards, when there's nothing to be done, that's hard. You don't want to transition back to your normal life, it feels disrespectful to eat dinner, but there is nothing else to do. No task at hand. Just – going on."

Lily nodded. "You've had too much practice at this."

"Yes, I have."

"Thank you for letting me come."

He shrugged. "I am shamefully glad to have you with me."

The waitress brought salads and replaced the empty bread basket with a full one.

"The first time I ever did this," Control said, "I was with Joseph Kiplinger. He was dead when you were still in diapers, I'm sure. He'd been a colonel, regular army. He did funeral details during Vietnam. He said the first thing he did was find the youngest child in the family. And when he went to give the flag to the widow or the mother, if it even looked like she was going to refuse it – they did that a lot then – he'd turn around and hand it to the child." He shrugged some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I haven't thought about Joe K in years."

"What did he die of?"

Control frowned, thinking. "He died in bed. With his nineteen-year-old wife and her twin sister."

"That's not so bad."

"No," he agreed. "But I don't imagine I'll die that way."

"_Kedves_, if I catch you in bed with nineteen-year-old twins, you can pretty much plan on dying there."

"I'll keep that in mind." He smirked. "That does kind of change my plans for the weekend, though."

"Rat."

He nodded, a familiar twinkle back in his eyes. It faded swiftly. "I suppose I should do something about getting Miss Campbell back here. If the situation is really as presented, there's no point in having Szabo debrief her."

Lily chewed thoughtfully. "I'd like to repeat that I'm completely unqualified to take over this child's training."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. And I don't want to."

"Not wanting to and not being qualified to are different issues." Control took a bite of his salad, chewed and swallowed. "Besides, her training is essentially complete. All you need to do is decide if she's got the stones for the job."

"She went to pieces in the field."

"Under those circumstances, you might have done the same." He considered, then amended, "Well, not _you_, of course, but anyone else."

"Thank you. I think."

"Besides, the point may be moot. She may have already decided this job isn't for her. That she's not going back out there. I wouldn't be at all surprised."

"Then what happens?"

"Then we find her a nice desk, in some field office. Analyzing, documentation, maybe translation. Something safe, nine to five, no weekends or holidays."

"Hmmm," Lily mused. "Sounds pleasant. Could you find a job like that for me?"

"In a heartbeat," Control answered quickly. "All you have to do is ask."

She studied him for a long moment, then looked away as the waitress brought their turkey. "You know," she said as the woman left, "some day I'm going to take you up on that."

"I hope so."

"Really?"

"I promised, didn't I?"

"Yes, but … in _extremis_."

His eyes never left hers. "I meant every word. I still do."

Lily nodded slowly. "I … I'm not there yet."

"Tell me when you are."

The warmth in his eyes brought tears to hers. She swallowed, hard, and studied her dinner for a moment. Then she changed the subject. "Assuming she wants to stay in the field, then what?"

"Then you have to decide if she's going to come apart again."

"How?"

"You'll figure something out."

Lily scowled. "Can I take her out in the field and see if she gets me killed?"

"No. You can't take her into the field at all. She's off active until this matter is resolved."

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"No." Control cut his turkey thoughtfully. "I would approach it by figuring out how Vince would have handled it."

She sighed. "I don't think Vince ever washed anybody out."

"Yes, he did. I remember a few."

"Can I see those files?" Lily asked. "Find out what he thought the fatal weakness was?"

"I don't see why not. I'll have Sue pull them in the morning."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence. The waitress came and refilled their glasses.

"He didn't look for flaws," Control said.

"Hmm?"

"Vince Norris didn't look for flaws. He looked for strengths. For what his trainees thought was their greatest strength. And then he tested that strength." He considered. "He said if an agent had confidence in herself – or himself – everything else would follow. If they believed in their greatest strength absolutely, they could learn all the rest. If they didn't, there was no hope."

Lily frowned. "I didn't know that."

Control shrugged.

"So what did he think my greatest strength was?"

"I … don't know."

"Yes, you do. You've been through my file backwards and forwards and we both know it. Give."

He considered, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked aside. "Your ability to get whatever you wanted from men."

Lily laughed out loud. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Control answered ruefully. "And if I'd seen your training report before we started, I might have been more … wary."

"Vince really thought that?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." She sat back, toyed with her stuffing. "But I don't recall any kind of testing on that premise. God knows I couldn't seduce _him_. I didn't even try."

Control focused intently on his meal.

"_Kedves_," Lily prompted. "What was the test?"

"I don't recall."

Under the table, her stocking toes eased up his pant leg and caressed his calf. "You will tell me, you know."

"I'd like to see you make me."

"All right." The toes pushed higher, brushed against his knee. "Out to the car."

Control chuckled. "You won't like it."

"In the car?" She shrugged. "A little cramped, but I'll manage."

"The test," he corrected.

"Tell me anyhow."

He sighed. "Who was it," he asked carefully, "who introduced you to Harley Gage?"

Lily stared at him, dumbstruck. Her toes slid back down his leg. "Oh, fuck."

Control nodded thoughtfully. "Later," he promised.


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy sat cross-legged, hunched under a peculiar-smelling blanket, on a flat bunk. She had stopped crying finally, and stopped vomiting. She was still trembling. She didn't think she would ever stop.

The room was dim, the shade pulled tight. Outside, impossibly, life went on. People walked by, talking. People even laughed. Nancy supposed they ate dinner, watched movies, made love. She felt like an alien, an outsider, completely separated from all of them.

There was a sharp rap on the door. "Campbell?" a man's voice said.

"Come in," she called back. She unfolded her legs and put her feet on the floor. She kept the blanket, though, hoping it would hide her shaking.

The most ordinary man in the world came in and shut the door behind him.

Observe, observe, observe, Vince had said a hundred times a day. But this man, Nancy knew immediately, she could walk past a hundred times and never see him. Average height, average weight, middle aged, balding. Medium brown hair, brown eyes. Unremarkable features. Twill pants and a button-down shirt. Brown shoes, just a little worn. Normal, average, unremarkable in every way.

His eyes regarded her with dull curiosity. His voice was flat, neutral. "Nancy?"

"Yes."

"I'm Szabo. I'm the station chief." He held his hand out; his handshake was unmemorable. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Nancy lied. His eyes acknowledged that lie with a bare flicker. He allowed it. "Do we know … do you know yet what happened to Vince?"

"No," Szabo answered. If he was lying, Nancy couldn't identify it with certainty. He pulled a chair over and sat in front of her. "We had planned to debrief you here, but Control wants you back in New York."

Nancy flinched. Of course he did. So he could fire her in person. If she was that lucky. What was the phrase for agents who were no longer valuable? Terminate with extreme prejudice?

"Do you think you can travel?" Szabo continued.

"I … yes." Nancy had no idea. She was trembling so hard she didn't think she could walk. Drive a car, walk through an airport like the world was still normal? The whole idea made her want to vomit again.

Szabo studied her. There was, she knew, far more intelligence behind those eyes than he showed. He knew everything. "I don't know," he said uncertainly.

"I can travel," Nancy said more firmly. "Just tell me what you want to do."

He nodded, unconvinced. "I'll have an agent go with you as far as Berlin. He'll put you on a direct flight to the States. I'd send someone with you all the way, but I just can't spare anybody if you can make it on your own."

"I can." It didn't sound so bad, after all. Get on the plane, pretend to sleep, hide under a blanket. She could do that.

"All right. Romanov will meet you in New York."

Nancy blinked. "Lily?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Control says so."

"Oh."

The man stood and put his chair back by the desk. "You leave in an hour."

Nancy nodded. "Okay," she said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

The man left the room. Nancy lurched forward, grabbed the trash can, and threw up bile again.

* * *

Control glanced up as Simms came in and gestured impatiently to a chair. "Report," he snapped.

Simms sat down across from him. "The sniper's name was Jorge Udovic."

"Was?"

"Shot dead by Prague special unit police."

"Convenient." Control signed the paper, put it in his out basket on the corner of the desk next to Simms, and sat back, his long fingers folded over his chest. "Tell me about the late Mr. Udovic."

"He served five years in the Soviet army," Simms reported. "Trained as a sniper, naturally. Left the army six months ago, came home to Prague to look for work. Hadn't found any." He glanced at the document. Expense report. Nothing unusual.

"Not much call for snipers in the private sector."

Simms nodded. "Yesterday his wife left him. With a Norwegian. He spent the night drinking, and this morning he climbed into a tower and started shooting everyone who didn't look like a native."

Control considered this information. "And the police conveniently killed him before he could be questioned."

"They brought in his priest and his mother. Neither one could talk him down." He glanced at the expense report again. One tank of gas, one dinner. One dinner guest, Romanov.

"And then?"

Simms blinked. Control was expensing dinner with Romanov? Putting it in writing? On the way back from Norris' house, informing the widow, official business, sure, but what the hell? You couldn't expense dinner with your mistress. Even if you were Control. Could you?

"Simms?"

The lieutenant started. "Ahhh … yeah. Udovic said he was going to surrender. Started down the steps, pulled a handgun on the cops waiting for him. He took about ten rounds before he fell."

"I want more," Control said quietly.

Simms glanced at the expense report one more time, then forced his full attention back to his boss. He could not afford to give anything away. Especially when he was so probably wrong. "Szabo doesn't know anything about him off hand, but he's looking into it. We're working a list of all the victims, dead and wounded. So far no obvious relationship between them, but we'll work it to the end."

Control nodded. "Vince was black, pretty obviously a foreigner. But Nancy Campbell's a redhead. Why not her, too?"

"She's a brunette now," Simms answered. "Vince thought the red hair was too easy to spot."

"Yes. Good. When will she be back?"

"Szabo's going to have her escorted to Berlin tonight. She'll be on a plane for New York in the morning."

"Call Romanov with the flight information. I want her to meet her at the airport. We'll debrief here. Though I don't imagine there's much point."

Simms nodded. "Lily went home?"

"Yes."

"How'd she do with the widow?"

Control shrugged. "As well as could be expected. She held together, but she's pretty rattled. At least I think she is. Hard to tell with that one."

"Yeah," Simms agreed. "She keeps her cards pretty close to the vest." Like you do, he added mentally.

"Don't we all, in this business?" Control mused. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right. Let me know if anything else turns up. Oh, and keep State up to speed. They'll need to handle getting the body back for us."

"I've already been in touch with them."

"Good. Good." Control stood up stiffly. "I'm going home. You should, too."

Simms shrugged. "I want to follow up on a few things first."

Control looked at him. "Don't get in the habit of sleeping in your office, Simms. Once you start, it's damn hard to stop. Always one more thing you want to wait for."

The younger man turned and glanced significantly at the luxurious couch in the center of Control's office. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Too late, huh?"

"Yes, sir. Too late."

* * *

"This feels wrong," Lily said.

Control paused, supporting his weight on his arms. Though there was undeniable need where their bodies were joined, he was fully prepared to roll away from her. The rapes were long over, but the wounds still sometimes surfaced. "Why, love?"

Lily did not, however, push him away. "It feels like we're celebrating."

"We are celebrating," he answered. "Not that Vince is dead, but that we're still alive."

"Ahhh," she breathed in agreement. She moved against him, and he picked up where they'd left off.

Later, slaked, they lay comfortably tangled in each other's arms. "He was wrong, you know."

"Hmmm?" Lily answered.

"Vince. He thought your greatest strength was your way with men. He was wrong."

"I don't have a way with men?"

"Oh, you do," Control assured her. "You do. But more than that. Much more than that. You keep secrets. No matter how dark, how dangerous – no matter how much it hurts you. You keep your secrets. You kept them so well that he never even knew you had them."

Lily thought about it. "I wonder what he'd think about this secret," she mused, trailing her fingers across her lover's chest.

"Oh, he would take you to the woodshed for this," Control answered. "You and me both."

"You think you're more dangerous to me than Harley Gage was?"

"Harley Gage was never dangerous to you." He stroked her hair lightly. "And he surely didn't expose you to the danger that I do."

"Hmmmm."

"I think I startled young Simms today," Control said. "He got a look at my expense report and about swallowed his tongue."

"Because my name was on it?"

"I think so."

Lily pushed herself up to look at him. "You think he suspects?"

"No." Control shook his head. "I just think the idea that_ I_ got to have dinner with you rattled his cage. Has he ever asked you out?"

"No. Yes. No."

Control laughed. "Which is it, darling?"

"When I first started, when he was in the field, he sorta … hinted. Very polite, very vague. And then the Harley episode happened, and I never heard another word about it."

"Ahh. Well, the spark still lingers."

"Worth remembering, I suppose. Just in case I need to wield my mythic powers over him."

"Tease him if you must," Control answered, "but no touching." He laced his fingers behind her neck and brought her face down to kiss her savagely. "You are mine, Lily. I won't share."

"And yet you're upset because I sent the teenage twins home," she teased.

"Well, that's a different matter."

"Uh-huh."

He grinned. "I would not trade you even for teenaged triplets."

"Identical triplets?" she suggested.

"Well, maybe _identical_ triplets …"

"You're a rat." She rolled and pulled him over on her. They kissed intensely, but it was promise rather than prelude; they were both too tired, physically and emotionally, for an encore.

* * *

Much later, when they were settled like spoons and on the verge of sleep, Control said softly, "I saw myself in Vince's widow."

"Hmmm?"

"I saw myself," he confessed, his voice still low. "If they came to tell me you were gone … I don't think I could be as … as gracious as she was. I don't think I could hide … and it won't be gentle. There won't be condolences, just reports." He tightened his arms around her. "I don't know how I'd get through it. I can't even stand to think about it."

"Ahh, _kedves_," Lily murmured, wrapping her arms over his. "Don't, don't. It's only shadows. I'm right here."

"And you," he whispered sadly, "I saw you, too. And it wouldn't be any gentler for you. No one would break it to you softly, you'd just hear through the regular channels. And I don't know how you'll deal with it, either."

Lily shook her head. "Don't worry about me, love."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend to survive you."

"What?"

"Nothing, _kedves_." She rolled over and re-settled in his arms. "Go to sleep."

"Lily …"

"Shhh," she murmured. "Sleep, love."

He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to ask questions. But he didn't want the answers. He didn't want to think, or to talk, or to grieve.

In two minutes, he was asleep in his lover's arms.

* * *

Nancy Campbell left Customs and walked onto the wider concourse. It was bright and full of people. She felt dull and achy. She'd slept all the way from Berlin, and she was still tired. Sleeping on airplanes didn't count as real sleep.

Grief folded around her like a heavy blanket. She wanted to go back to sleep, preferably forever.

"Hey."

Nancy spun. Lily Romanov was at her elbow. Ah, great, Nancy thought tiredly. Down check right from the gate, let her sneak up on me. "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," Nancy lied.

"Sure." Lily turned, and instinctively Nancy followed her. "You have luggage?"

"No."

"Good."

Though the older woman was shorter and seemed to move effortlessly, Nancy had to rush to keep up with her. "Lily? Do I still have a job?"

"Do you still want a job?"

"I asked first."

"I don't know."

"That's not very reassuring," Nancy said.

Lily glanced at her. "I'm not here to reassure you."

"Why are you here? They didn't think I could get from the airport to the office on my own?" Nancy bit her tongue. You couldn't get from your dead trainer to a safe house on your own, now could you?

But Lily didn't say that. She didn't say anything. She just kept walking, threading through the maze of disorganized tourists and disgruntled businessmen like she owned the whole airport. Nancy had to trot to keep up with her.

They breezed out the door and into the short-term parking lot. "Lily?" Nancy said, in a more civil tone. "Why _are_ you here?"

The older woman paused at the side of a black Mercedes sedan. "Damned if I know."

Belatedly, Nancy realized that this was Lily's car. Damn, she thought, how many pay grades above me _is_ she? She climbed into the passenger seat, with her backpack cradled on her lap. "This is nice."

"Uh-huh. Got it used from a diplomat. All tricked out." Lily threaded the car out of the lot the same way she's gotten herself out of the concourse, too fast and apparently effortlessly.

"Are we going to the office?"

Lily nodded. "You're debriefing with Simms." She glanced over. "Just tell him what happened, let them get it on paper. Nothing big and formal."

"I don't even _know_ what happened," Nancy answered. She swore inwardly as she heard her voice crack. Damn it, she was _not_ going to cry again. "One minute we were talking about lunch and the next he … he …" She stopped and took a long, shaky breath. "Do you know who shot him?"

"We think so."

"Who?" Nancy demanded.

"I can't tell you yet. I don't want to color your narrative."

"What?"

"We want your story, as you remember it. Not as you've amended it to fit the new facts. Debrief first, and then I'll tell you what I know."

Nancy glared out the window for a long time. It made sense. Of course it made sense. But she hated it. "Was it my fault?" she finally asked.

"No."

Romanov seemed very certain of that. But Nancy didn't believe her, not entirely.

"I want to see Irena," she announced. "I want to go to the funeral."

"Hell no," Lily said.

"But you said it wasn't my fault …"

"That's not the point."

"He was my partner," Nancy insisted. "I have the right to …"

"No, you don't," Lily said, just as firmly. "He was your partner. Not your husband, not your father. You don't have any right to anything, where Vince is concerned. Understand?"

"He was my _friend_. I'm going to the funeral."

"No."

"You can't …"

"Stop," Lily snapped. "Before you tell me what I can't do, sweetie, you better ask somebody. You are _not_ going to Vince Norris' funeral."

_Bitch_, Nancy thought viciously, I'll go if I want to, you can't stop me.

Maybe you can, she allowed, after a moment. Damn, maybe I won't even survive this 'nothing big and formal' debriefing. Ah, God, Vince, I wish you were here to tell me how much trouble I'm in.

Lily's tone softened. "Vince's family has no idea what he really did for a living. Irena knows, but not his children, not his sister and brothers, not his mother. Not his neighbors or his friends or the people he sang in the church choir with. Nobody knew. And nobody can know. It'll only hurt them if it comes out. Especially the children."

"I won't tell anybody," Nancy protested. "You know I won't …"

"No, I don't know," Lily answered quietly. "And I'm not going to take the chance with his family."

"What, you think I'm going to have some big breakdown and start screaming that Vince was a spy?"

"Well," she said, without bite, "it's not like we've never known you to break down before."

"You bitch," Nancy said out loud this time. "You just said what happened in Prague wasn't my fault, and now you're saying I can't go to my _friend's_ funeral because of it."

She half expected the older agent to pull the car over and shoot her right there. Instead, Lily didn't even seem angry. She just seemed very cool. "What happened to Vince wasn't your fault. What you did as a result was."

"I had his fucking _brains_ all over my _shirt_!"

"And you went to fucking pieces," Lily answered. "You can't go to the funeral."

Nancy took a deep breath and tried to sound calm. "I won't go to pieces. I promise."

"No," the other woman answered. There was no room for negotiation in her tone. But she added, "None of us ever go to funerals if there's family. Ever."

The rookie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She hadn't known that. She'd jumped to the conclusion that she was being singled out because she'd frozen up in Prague. When she thought about it, the policy made a cold kind of sense. She wanted so much to see Vince one more time, to tell him she was sorry, to tell Irena she was sorry …

… and Irena would ask questions, and she would be kind, and Nancy would cry and want to tell her everything …

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Lily half-shrugged and drove in silence.

"Why are you here?" Nancy asked again.

"I'm supposed to take over your training."

"What?"

"Control – and Simms – want me to decide if you can make it as a courier. If you're solid enough to go back into the field."

Nancy groaned aloud. "Aw, man."

"Yeah," Lily agreed. "It might be better if you didn't call me 'bitch' again."

"Damn," Nancy breathed. It wasn't just that she'd called her a bitch; she had the feeling

Romanov had heard that before. It was that she had completely misjudged the situation. She had never considered that Romanov, a senior agent, might have her future in her hands. Failure to properly assess the situation. Another down check. "Damn."

"So we're back to, do you still want the job?" Lily said.

"Of course I …"

"No. Not 'of course' anything. We need to get through this briefing, and then you need to think about it, long and hard. Take your time. Meet with the Company shrink. Don't answer until you're really sure. This is the rest of your life we're talking about."

Nancy nodded slowly. "If I want it … you get to decide if I can have it?"

"I get to recommend."

"And I'm sure Control listens to all your recommendations."

Lily glanced at her again. "Sure. When they fit what he wants to do anyhow."

"He must think I'm a complete idiot."

"He thinks you might be salvageable."

"He does?" The idea surprised Nancy, and made her feel warm for the first time in days.

Lily nodded thoughtfully.

"And … what do you think?"

"I think I'm completely unqualified to train anyone," Lily answered. "And I've said so, loudly and repeatedly. Which has gotten me exactly no where. So here's the plan. We're going to go meet with Simms. And then we're going to take my training budget and hang out. Whatever you want to do."

"And figure out if I can still do the job?"

Lily shrugged. "We'll leave that until the last day."

Nancy looked at her. "Just like that? Just …screw off for three weeks?"

"Yep."

"Can we do that?"

"I have my assignment," Lily said easily, "and you have yours. We'll do anything we can get away with. It's the Company way."


	4. Chapter 4

Control leaned one hip easily on the wide sill of the one-way glass and watched the debriefing. He wasn't interested in what Nancy Campbell said so much as how she said it. She was clearly nervous, agitated; her hands moved continuously, her voice occasionally cracked. But she wasn't crying.

Simms was very calming. He went over her story meticulously, repeatedly, his voice even and non-judgmental. Lily just sat and watched. She didn't speak, didn't move. Her face was her usual emotionless mask.

Control hated that mask. It meant that she was hiding everything, that she had cut herself off. She would listen and see and take in everything, give back nothing. Most people didn't even realize she was gone. Even when she wasn't looking at him, he hated her emotional absence.

The rookie was so young, so pretty and fresh, with all her emotions right there on her face. By comparison, his lover was frozen, closed, years of stress and sleeplessness etched in tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, mature, experienced – magnificent.

On the day they met, Lily Romanov had not been as young as Nancy Campbell was. Lily Romanov had never been that young.

There was nothing new in the rookie's story, in any of the times Simms led her through it. Nothing new in the reports from Prague, either. It was beginning to look like Vince Norris really had been killed by an insane sniper with a grudge against foreigners.

Control was not entirely convinced by that explanation, not yet. But he knew Szabo personally, knew that the man would work every possible angle before he gave up. He was boring, thorough, and reliable.

Lily wasn't happy about her new assignment, but it would keep her safe and close for three more weeks …

… which wasn't, Control told himself firmly, why he'd given it to her.

He wondered if when he knew he was lying to himself it still constituted a lie.

Simms led the rookie through her story three times, with three different sets of questions. The story never changed. He hadn't expected it to.

Satisfied that he knew all that she did, he answered her questions. To the best of their knowledge, still, Vince Norris had been shot by a madman because he looked like the foreigner he was.

"That's it?" Nancy protested, incredulous. "They shot him because he was _black_?"

"Because he didn't look like a Czech," Simms corrected lightly.

"But it had nothing to do with the job? It wasn't about the message or anything? It was just because of the way he looked?"

"As far as we know."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're not sure?"

Simms considered. "Nothing in this business is ever certain. But the overwhelming weight of the evidence we have at this time is that Vince's death was not related to Company activities."

Nancy shook her head. "I can't believe that. I can't believe it was just coincidence."

"We're still looking into it." Simms stood and gathered his papers. "Do you have any other questions?"

Nancy looked across the table to Romanov. The older woman had been silent, unmoving, throughout the interview. She didn't offer any help now. Nancy wanted to ask him, do I still have a job? But she knew he wouldn't answer, at least not directly. When they decided to fire her, they'd let her know.

She shook her head. "No, I'm good for now. Thank you for letting me know what you know about Vince."

Simms nodded. "We'll set up some meetings with the Company counselor for you. Aside from that, take a little time off, think about what you want to do from here. Miss Romanov will be meeting with you over the next few weeks. You're off active duty for the rest of your training period."

"I understand."

Simms left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Nancy folded her arms on the table and put her head down. "Oh, that just sucked."

"You did fine," Lily said.

After a long moment, Nancy realized that the other woman was waiting. Waiting while she rested, while she got herself together. Silent, patient – maybe counting the seconds, keeping score? More marks against her? She sat up. "Now what?"

"I have to clean out Vince's office. Gather up his personal things. You can help, if you want."

Another test, Nancy thought. She wants to see if I'll cry again, if I'll come apart. "Sure."

Lily stood up. "We'll stop and see Munchie on the way, see if he has some boxes to spare."

"Who's Munchie?" Nancy asked.

A flicker of – annoyance? – flashed across Romanov's face. It was gone in a blink. "The man in the mail room. The friendly one you talk to every morning."

"Oh. I never knew his name."

"Nobody does," Lily answered. Her voice was again neutral.

Nancy followed her out, chagrined and confused. Yes, she saw the little man in the mail room every morning. In a wheelchair. He was always friendly, always smiling – and he always addressed her by name. As an agent, she should have made it her business to know his. Observe, observe, observe, Vince said a thousand times. She had not observed what was right under her nose.

From Romanov's comment, though, no one else did, either. Nancy guessed that the older agent considered this worse than unprofessional: she considered it rude. Nancy had to agree. Her rudeness, and that of her fellow agents, embarrassed her. She had been brought up better than that.

She followed Lily down the bland corridors of the building. She felt like she ought to apologize, but Romanov didn't really seem angry. She didn't seem to feel anything at all. She just stated things and went on, unreadable. I don't get her, Nancy thought in frustration. I can't figure her out. How am I supposed to get her to let me keep my job if I can never tell what she's thinking?

"I wish I could talk to Mark," she said.

"Mark who?"

Nancy swallowed. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Mark had been in the field with Lily; maybe he knew her a little better, could give her some tips or tells on the woman. And also, though she was loathe to admit it, Mark would give her comfort and support when no one else would. She was probably falling in love with Mark. But she hadn't meant to say it. She shook her head. "Never mind."

"Mark O'Donnell?" Lily pursued. "Mark with the scar?" She gestured to the center of her forehead.

Nancy nodded. "We've been … seeing each other. Since the party." It had become, in Company lore, _the_ party; no further explanation was needed. "But he's back in the Balkans now. There's no way to reach him."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "Go see Munchie, get a couple paper boxes. I'll meet you in Vince's office in a couple minutes."

"Okay, but …" She stopped, because Lily was already striding down another hallway. With a sigh, Nancy made her way to the mailroom.

She reached the half-door and looked in anxiously. Munchie was in the back corner of the room, fiddling with the copy machine. "Hey, uh, Munchie? How are you?"

He turned and grinned. "Hey, Nancy. I heard you were back." He wheeled to the door, took both her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "How you doin', honey?"

His kindness and warmth brought unexpected tears to her eyes, and she blinked frantically. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are," he agreed, releasing her hands. "You'll be just fine. Let me see if I've got any mail for you." He wheeled to the tall sort rack.

"Thanks. And I'm also supposed to ask if I can have a couple boxes. We're going to clean out Vince's …" She stopped again, choked, tried again. "We're going to clean out Vince's office."

Munchie glanced back at her. "I'd talk to Romanov before you do that."

"I did. She sent me."

"Oh." Munchie brought her a small pile of mail, then wheeled back towards the copy machine, where a neat stack of paper boxes waited. He plucked two and brought them back to her. "She's letting you help her."

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I kinda thought she'd keep it to herself. She and Vince were pretty tight."

Nancy's resentment flared. Vince was _my_ partner, she thought. Lily was just someone he trained years ago. _I_ should get to clean out his office. _I_ was the one with him when he died. Why does she get to be the queen goddamn bee around her?

Munchie and Lily were friends, she remembered, and for all she knew, this friendly, smiling man reported every word that she said. She tried to bite all the anger out of her voice. "She's taking over as my training agent."

"Huh." Munchie handed the boxes up to her. "Well, she's the one to help you, I guess. With what she's been through and all."

Nancy's cheeks flared bright pink. Of course, of course. Romanov had been captured, tortured, raped in Central America, seven weeks, and she'd come back to work when everybody said she wouldn't. It had been before Nancy had joined the Company, but it was legend. Everybody knew. It wasn't any wonder Lily got to be the queen bee.

It wasn't any wonder she was Control's favorite.

She was going to cry again. "Thanks, Munchie," she mumbled. She took her boxes and her mail and went to the elevator.

They must think you're a hell of a big problem, she thought, if they pulled Romanov out of the field to have her deal with you. They must really want to keep you.

Control thinks you might be salvageable.

So Control had gotten her the best help he had.

She nodded to herself. Salvageable. Yes. She was salvageable. She was going to keep her job, and she was going to be brilliant at it. She was going to be the slickest, smartest courier they'd ever seen. Well, at least since Romanov. Salvageable, my sweet ass. I'm going to be the best.

* * *

The hand-written post-it note on the door said, "Vince is dead. Stay the hell out." There were initials scrawled beneath it; Nancy was pretty sure they were 'LR'.

No one, apparently, had opened the door.

She considered, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Vince's office had been her second home for months. She had always been welcome there. But now, with Vince gone … finally, she tried the knob. The door was locked.

The door had never been locked before. Nancy set the boxes down and stepped to one side to wait. She hoped no one would walk by. She didn't want to have to explain.

A few minutes later, Lily returned. She deftly picked the lock and opened the door.

"Don't you have a key?" Nancy asked.

"Why would I?" Lily returned. "I suppose there's one somewhere." She kicked the boxes in and entered the office. "Box up anything that looks like it's personal. Start there." She pointed towards the bookshelves, while she planted herself behind the desk.

Nancy took several framed pictures down and placed them gently in the box. Vince and his wife. Vince and his wife and their five children. Vince's oldest daughter in her senior picture. That one was almost new; they'd come in just before Vince and Nancy left for Prague. Vince been so proud of Rochelle. She was so smart and so pretty, too, and such a nice, polite girl …

Nancy bit her lip, hard.

Behind her, she could hear the drawers opening and closing swiftly. Romanov wasn't lingering over this task. Suddenly Nancy didn't want to, either. She didn't even want to be doing it. It had seemed like such a privilege, something worth fighting over. Now it was just oppressive and hard. The room was full of memories, and their task was to strip it down to an office again.

Most of the shelf was full of manuals and binders, but a few looked unofficial. "These books," she began uncertainly. "I don't know for sure which ones are his."

"If there's any doubt, box 'em," Lily answered. "Simms will have to go through it all anyhow."

"Oh."

"Nobody carries boxes of documents out of this building without a pass," Lily explained.

"I know. I just thought … never mind."

Romanov continued with the drawers.

"I thought Control might sit in on the debriefing," Nancy ventured, working the first set of shelves from top to bottom.

"Simms will report to him on it," Lily answered off-hand.

"I know, but … I mean, an agent killed on duty, I thought that would rate, you know, Control's personal attention."

The older woman sat back and looked at her. "He's not handling the details personally. That doesn't mean he doesn't care."

"I didn't mean it that way, I just meant …" Nancy stopped, shook her head. "I don't know what I mean." She looked at the endless manuals for a moment. They were heavy with dust; Vince didn't have much use for them. Everything worth knowing was already in his head. "It means a lot to me, that he thinks I'm salvageable."

"Ahh." When Nancy turned, Lily was looking into drawers again. It almost looked like she was trying not to laugh.

The phone on the desk rang, startling both of them. Lily snagged it. "Romanov." Then, "Okay, thanks, I'll send her."

She put the phone down. "Alpern wants to see you in Communications."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Go ahead, I'll finish this."

"Okay." Baffled, Nancy trotted down the hallway to the huge communications hub. She'd only been there twice, once on her initial tour, once with a message. What did they want with her?

The hub was cool and buzzing quietly. Alpern, the shift head, met her at the door. "We got your call through," he said.

"My call?"

"You can use booth one," he said, pointing to the first of a series of doors at the back of the room. "Line seven."

"Ooo-kay," Nancy answered. Bewildered, she followed the instructions. Behind the indicated door was a tiny room, very much like a phone booth. Lovely, Nancy thought. I shut the door, they gas me, the floor opens to drop my dead body into the incinerator. One failed agent dispatched, no fuss, no muss.

She shut the door, sat down and picked up the phone. It buzzed. She remembered to push the line button. "Hello?" she said quietly.

"Nancy?"

"Mark?"

"Hey, how you doing? I've been worried sick about you."

Nancy sat back, tears streaming down her face. "I'm okay, I'm okay …"

"You don't sound okay."

"Oh, Mark, I've been so … I've been so …" She gave up and wept.

Mark spoke to her, but she didn't know what he said. It didn't matter. It only mattered that he was there, that she could hear his voice. It was impossible. He was on a mission, in the field, nobody could reach him – and certainly not for anything as silly as a stressed-out girlfriend.

But she had voiced her wish, and like magic Lily Romanov had made it come true.

Oh, but Nancy wanted to hate her new training officer. And oh, but Lily was making it impossible.

She listened to Mark talk, and she poured her heart out to him, and she got the comfort she wanted, needed.

It occurred to her, perhaps five minutes in, that maybe this line was bugged, that maybe Lily and Simms and even Control were sitting in some little room listening to every word she said, judging her fitness to continue based on what she said to her boyfriend. But she couldn't stop, and it was probably too late by then anyhow. She talked, Mark talked, and for a few minutes she felt warm and safe and human again.

A discreet red light on the side of the phone began to flash. Nancy wondered aloud if there was another call on the line.

"It means our ten minutes are up," Mark explained. "We're about to get cut off. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Nancy said, wiping her eyes. "I'm so much better than I was before. Really, I am."

"Good. I wish I could be there with you. I'll get back as soon as I can. I want to be there for you."

"You are, Mark. I know you are."

"I'll try to call you again. Nancy, I want you to know, I …"

The light turned solid red, and the line went dead.

Nancy put down the receiver. She sat very still, composing herself. Then she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stepped out of the booth. Alpern was in the middle of something; he merely glanced her way and nodded. Nancy nodded her thanks back and fled to the ladies room.

There was no hope of looking like she hadn't been crying. She did the best she could, then went back to Vince's office. Lily was putting the lid on the second box. "Good, you can help me carry this stuff," she said.

Nancy nodded and picked up the first box. "That was really nice of you. Thank you."

"Sure."

They made their way to Simms' office and deposited the boxes next to his desk. Simms was not there. "He'll figure it out," Lily said. She pushed her hair back with both hands, and for the first time, Nancy could see the weariness in her. "I need a drink."

"If I start drinking," Nancy said seriously, "I'm not going to stop until I fall down."

Lily nodded. "I'll drive."

* * *

They had burgers at a small, dark little bar. Nancy didn't think she was hungry, but the burger smelled so good she couldn't resist a bite, and the rest went down easily, with beer. They ordered stuffed mushrooms and onion rings. She switched to bourbon. It all went down easily.

She started talking. She was careful, at first, picking just the right words, just the right topics to make Lily think she was confident and competent. Lily listened. She listened very well, Nancy thought, and she ordered bourbon often. Nancy drank, and she talked. The more she drank, the less careful her words were.

"Do you think he's gay?" she said suddenly.

Romanov looked at her over her Guinness. Nancy wondered if that was still her first beer. "Who, Mark?"

"Control."

"Nancy, you're officially drunk."

"I know." Nancy did, too. Her toes were tingly. Her nose was warm. "But do you think he might be?"

Lily began to laugh. "No, I don't think so."

"But he could be," Nancy protested.

Romanov laughed harder. "I don't think so."

Nancy was suddenly indignant. "Look, I know you like him, but facts are facts. He hasn't been seen in the company of a woman since … since … forever. His closest friendship is with another man. And another thing." She leaned over the table and gestured Lily closer, so that she could whisper her dark secret. "Vince told me he used to wear _bow ties_!"

"Bow ties are evidence of homosexuality?"

"Shh, shh!" Nancy protested. She looked around, afraid that someone had overheard. "They could be, couldn't they? And besides … and besides …" She bit her lip, then leaned closer again. "And besides, I hit on him and he just gave me this little knowing smile, like he had some secret. So that's got to be it. Right?"

Nancy was drunk, and knew it. What she didn't understand was why Romanov, who she knew was much less drunk, slid towards the floor, laughing helplessly.

"You're _laughing _at me!" she protested. "Here, let me help."

She stood up, steadied herself with one hand on the table, and reached her free hand down to Lily. The older woman took it and tried to haul herself up, but Nancy slipped, and she fell back on her butt. She couldn't stop laughing, and the whole situation was suddenly funny to Nancy, too. "Here, wait, I'll help you …" she began, and then laughed so hard she slipped back onto her chair. "Wait, I can help, I can help."

"I've got it," Lily answered. "Just stay put, I'm okay." She clambered back into view and sat on her own chair. "Damn. Good thing we weren't on barstools, that might have hurt."

Nancy was still giggling madly. "You fell down."

"You're drunk."

"I'm drunk, but you fell down." She looked at her glass sadly. "Can I have some more?"

"Sure, why not." Lily gestured to the bartender, who brought another glass.

"I think you're about done here," he said dourly, indicating the giggling rookie.

"I think you're about right," Lily assured him. "Thank you."

When he left, Nancy leaned conspiratorially across the table again. "You didn't answer the question."

"What was the question?"

"Do you think he's gay?"

Lily shook her head. "When did you hit on him?"

"At the party. While we were dancing. But he just sorta shrugged me off."

"Maybe you're just not his type."

Nancy sat back. "Look at me. I'm _everybody's_ type."

Lily laughed again. "Okay, sweetie. Finish your drink, and then we're going home."

"Well do you?"

"Do I what?"

The trainee sighed heavily. "Do you think he's gay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Lily considered the question for a long moment. "There are stories. About a Russian ballerina."

"Yeah, so?"

"So they're pretty detailed stories. Explicit. Too factual to be discounted."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Nancy, my sweet, it's time you learned, every man who doesn't want to bed you is not necessarily gay."

"I didn't say that! I just think he is."

"He's not."

"You're sure?"

Lily giggled again. "I'm as sure as I can be, okay?"

Nancy sighed. "Did you sleep with McCall?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"I hear stuff. Around."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

"I don't. That's why I'm asking."

Romanov considered again. "Who I sleep with is none of your business, unless it's you. The same holds true for Control. And everybody else. What we do when we're not working is nobody's business."

"What about that other guy? What's his name? Kostmayer?"

"Drink up. You're going home."

Nancy slammed her drink back. "I left him," she announced, quite suddenly serious.

"Mark?" Lily guessed carefully.

"Vince. His face exploded, I felt it hit my shirt, I heard the shot … I just ran. I didn't even … wait … until he fell, I didn't … check. Maybe he was still alive. I didn't wait, I didn't see. I just ran."

Lily stood up and drained the rest of her beer. "Good for you," she said quietly. "Stay alive. That's the first rule. You did good." She grabbed the rookie by the arm, hauled her to her feet, and marched her out into the cooling night air.


	5. Chapter 5

Nancy lived in a tiny apartment four blocks from the Company-leased temp housing that that Lily had lived in. Judging by the condition of the furniture, it had come with the apartment, and had been there for thirty or forty years.

There was a rose-colored cover over the ancient couch, neatly smoothed, with burgundy throw pillows on each end. Framed posters, photos of musical instruments and roses, hung on the walls. Pink curtains. Nancy had tried to make the place look like home. Instead, it was just sad.

The rookie was drunk, no question, but she was not puke-in-the-Mercedes drunk, much less falling-down drunk. Lily stayed while Nancy showered – forever – and tucked her into bed. As much exhausted as intoxicated, she promptly fell asleep. Lily checked the apartment for car keys, but there were none. She left her phone number and locked the door behind her as she left.

At her own apartment, Lily shucked out of her own clothes, which reeked of stale beer and cigarettes, and into clean, equally casual ones. She called the office. No news on Vince's death, no clue yet when they could deliver the body. She reported her activities to Simms. He grunted non-commitally and hung up on her.

Lily shook her head. "I have got to stop letting him hang around with Control."

She wandered the apartment, restless. It was still early evening. Control would not be joining her, now or later; they rarely risked more than one or two nights a week together, and certainly never two in a row. The minute anyone found out about their relationship …

Lily shook her head. She wasn't hungry; the burger had filled her up, and the stout beer filled in the gaps. Her laundry was done. She had the files on Vince's failed trainees to go over, but she wasn't in the mood. No bills to pay. She flicked on the TV and surfed the channels, but nothing caught her interest. She had movies on tape, but they bored her, too. Books, likewise.

Generally, on the few nights she was in her own home, she was perfectly content on her own. Tonight the apartment felt like a jail cell.

Vince's death felt like a weight across her shoulders. Nancy's fast-changing attitude, now needy, now abrasive, was exhausting. Lily wanted to be with her lover, but it was a dull-edged want, certainly not worth calling in the dangerous marker, having him break pattern to see her. The secrecy of their relationship, usually merely annoying, was suddenly oppressive. She wanted to call him and say, 'Meet me for drinks at Windows, and then we'll catch a show.' But that couldn't happen. Not this night, not any night, not ever.

Not even if she quit her job, moved out to the suburbs, and had his children. Hell, she'd see less of him then than she did now.

Lily stuffed her knuckles in her mouth and very quietly screamed.

Then she straightened and sighed, wiped her hand on her pants. She got her box of paints and stencils from the kitchen cupboard and went into the bathroom.

The jungle room, she mused. The room had originally been painted pale green. She had stenciled a small, demur line of leaves over the bathroom mirror. Then she'd painted over them and replaced them with much larger, bolder leaves. She liked the effect. She painted lines down each side of the mirror, and across the bottom. Then around the sides of the shower surround. Then around the door. Above and below the towel bars. Around the sink, the toilet tank, and the tiny linen cupboard.

The rest of the pale green space was so small it looked ridiculous, so she filled it with leaves as well.

The tiny bathroom had become a jungle.

Control had bought her flower stencils for Christmas, orchids and tiger lilies, and bright paints in every color. The jungle was blooming.

She picked a spot and a bright pink base color and set to work.

The minute the brush met the wall, her phone rang.

"Oh, God, please don't let that be Nancy," she said aloud as she went to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, you naked?"

Lily grinned. "I'm not, but I can be."

"Ah, skip it, then," Kostmayer answered. "McCall stood me up. You wanna go to a ball game?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Like … now?"

"Yeah."

"Who's playing?"

"Yankees, Indians."

"The Yankees suck this year."

"I know. But hell, they ought to be able to beat the Indians, anyhow."

"Okay."

"Good. Grab a jacket. I'm out front."

Lily laughed. "Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"That's what you love about me."

* * *

It was, as Harry Carey would have said, a beautiful night for baseball. Cool, not cold. Cloudless sky, pale blue fading to navy. Light breeze coming in off the left field fence. Empty seats in abundance.

"Cold beer here."

"Right here," Kostmayer called. "Two," he said, without checking.

"This is probably enough for me," Lily said, chugging a quarter of the lager. "I already had a stout."

"Early start tonight?"

"Long story." She gestured towards the field. "Who's this loser?"

Mickey squinted. "Cadaret. Left-handed pitcher."

"Yeah," Lily said dryly, "I probably coulda' guessed he was left-handed, just by the way he throws."

"Ah, shut up."

"So McCall stood you up, huh?"

"Uh-huh. Says he's working with a client."

"And he didn't include you? How sad."

Mickey shrugged. "He does handle things on his own sometimes. But I sorta get the feeling he ditched me for a woman."

"The historian."

"You know about her?"

"Just mutterings and rumors." Lily put the soles of her shoes against the back of the empty seat in front of her. "If it's any comfort, he never invites me on any of his little adventures."

"That's because your boyfriend threatened to rip his arms off if he did."

"Oh."

"Cracker Jacks!"

"Right here!" Kostmayer yelled. And then, "Aw, come on, that was a strike!"

"Walked him," Lily said serenely. "So where's your woman tonight?"

"Berlin," Mickey scowled.

"Ah."

"Willy-boy invited her personally. Took her on a tour of the city hall and such. Very impressed with her work. "

"Aren't we all." Lily claimed a handful of the sticky popcorn. "Heard she got another book deal."

"And a contract offer from UPI."

"She gonna take it or stay free-lance?"

Mickey sighed. "I don't know. They're telling her they can get her into all the hot spots."

"You mean the places we hang out?"

"Yep."

"She needs to go back to Ireland."

"Tell me about it."

"You set a date yet?"

"No"

"Pretzels! Hot pretzels!"

"Right here!"

"So after all the trouble I went through to get you engaged, you're just going to let it sit."

Kostmayer glared at her. "It would be better, Romanov, if you never reminded me about what you did for our engagement again."

"Let it go, Mickey. We've already decided I was right."

"If I had caught you on the streets …"

"What?" Lily tore a curve off his pretzel and nibbled it.

"I probably would have killed you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"No, you're not."

"Mickey," Lily said calmly, "if you'd really meant to kill me that day, you'd have shot me before I ever got to the door the first time."

He thought about it for a long moment. Then he juggled his food and took a long pull on his beer. "You're probably right."

"Uh-huh."

"Probably."

"Cotton candy! Peanuts!"

"Here!" Lily shot one hand up. "One of each."

"You know," Mickey paused while a fly ball sailed over the right-field fence, "we probably ought to get some real food."

"In a while. I'm not really hungry, I took Nancy for burgers at Domingo's."

"Nancy?"

"Nancy Campbell. Used to be a redhead. Rookie."

Mickey shook his head. "Never met her."

"She was at the party."

He shrugged. "Pretty much everybody was gone when I got there."

"Oh." Lily washed down a handful of cotton candy with more beer. "She was Vince's trainee."

"What the hell happened to Vince, anyhow? I heard he got shot."

"In Prague," Lily confirmed. "By a distraught former Soviet sniper whose wife left him for a foreigner."

"Bullshit."

"That's the story of the moment, anyhow. The tie boys are highly skeptical."

"Yeah, no kidding." He shook his head. "That sucks."

Lily nodded. "Nancy was with him. She got splatted."

"Splatted?"

"With Vince's brains."

"Oh, lovely. So when is she leaving for Happy Hills?"

"Control wants to see if she can be salvaged."

Mickey bit his lower lip, biting back his initial response to that announcement. "Uh-huh."

"That's not the good part."

"What's the good part?"

"He gave her to me."

Kostmayer finished the pretzel and most of his beer as the Yankees adroitly blew a double-play chance. "What, as some kind of kinky sex toy thing?"

"No, as my very own rookie. I get to finish her training."

"Well, that's not exactly the blind leading the blind," Mickey allowed. "More like the insane leading the splatted."

Lily stole more Cracker Jacks. "They want me to decide if she's fit for field work."

"You."

"Uh-huh."

"How you gonna do that?"

"Damned if I know."

"Hot dogs! Getcher hot dogs!"

"Hey, three, right here!" Mickey called. "You want one?" he asked Lily. She shook her

head. "Make it four," he told the vendor. "She always steals one."

"Yeah, buddy," the vendor answered, "all the girls love my wieners."

When he retreated, Lily took one of the dogs. "Could you put a little _more_ mustard on this?" she asked.

"I could, but it would just fall off."

They ate through the inning change, and while the Indians pitcher struck out two Yankees. "So. What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About your rookie."

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. Spend time with her, I guess. Make her go see my shrink. But the thing is, she totally freaked when Vince went down. Froze up. Stumbled to a phone booth and called home. Simms couldn't get her to move. She forgot everything. All her training just went _shooop_, out the window. And they want me to figure out if it'll happen again."

"You gotta take her back to the field," Mickey said grimly.

"Can't."

"There's no other way. You can't tell how she'll function in the field until she's in the field. Under fire."

"From your mouth to Control's ear," Lily said.

"I bet I know somebody who can arrange that," Mickey smirked.

"He won't go for it. He's afraid she'll get me killed."

"Lemon ice! Lemon ice here! "

They exchanged a look, then let the vendor pass. For the moment.

Mickey sipped the last of his beer down. "If you can't actually take her to the field ..."

". ..then I need some kind of king-hell training exercise," Lily completed.

"That she doesn't know is an exercise," Mickey confirmed. "If she doesn't think it's real, you won't get real results."

Lily looked around. "Good a training ground as any."

"Big Apple?" Mickey laughed. "Bet your ass. If she can make it here, she'll make it anywhere …."

"You're not going to sing now, are you?"

"Beer here! Ice cold beer!"

"Right here!" Lily yelled.

* * *

Nancy Campbell's phone rang at precisely nine a.m. She staggered out of her bedroom and crossed the five steps of her living room to answer it. "'lo?"

"Good morning, sunshine," Lily Romanov said, much too brightly. "Want to run out to the firing range?"

Nancy squinted against the sunlight that filtered into the room. "Only if you promise to shoot me."

"Yeah, I thought so. Next time go with the top-shelf booze, okay?"

"You coulda' told me that last night."

"Live and learn, sweetie. The shrink wants you at eleven. At the office. Fourth floor."

"Do I have to?" Nancy groaned.

"Absolutely."

"Urgh."

"I made them give you to Lichtenwald. She's pretty good."

"Pretty good shrink. Great."

"But she's a stickler for punctuality, so don't be late."

Nancy sighed. "Yes, Mother."

Lily laughed and hung up. Nancy closed her eyes and rested for one more minute, then staggered towards her shower.

* * *

Morning rush was over; the subway train was only a third full.

Nancy found an empty seat and scooted across to the window, leaving the aisle seat vacant. The shower and the aspirin had pretty much cleared her mild hangover. Now she could concentrate on being miserable about Vince Norris again.

She didn't want to talk to the Company shrink. She just wanted to bury it all and go on. But that wasn't an option, as both Simms and Romanov had made clear.

The train stopped at a station, started again. A man came up the aisle behind Nancy and plopped into the seat next to her. Instinctively, she squeezed towards the window, giving him an extra inch on the seat.

He scooted, too, so that his hip and thigh were touching hers. "Hey."

He had already broken one rule of the subway: No conversation with strangers. Nancy broke another and made eye contact.

Observe, observe, observe, she heard Vince say. Caucasian, early thirties. Average height, slender build. Medium brown hair, a little shaggy, curling at his collar. Hazel eyes, a little narrow and currently bright with interest. Average features, a nice strong jaw. Clean-shaven, two days ago. Jeans and a black leather jacket, maybe a t-shirt underneath.

He wasn't bad looking, Nancy thought. "Hey," she said back, in a tone that did not invite further conversation.

"Nice morning, huh?"

It had been cloudy and windy when Nancy entered her subway station. "Little gray for my taste."

"Well, yeah, but a good day to be alive."

Nancy squashed herself against the window, re-establishing space between their bodies. "I guess any day is."

The man moved closer again, his hip and leg against hers even more tightly. He leaned towards her and sniffed deeply. "You smell good."

"Get away from me." She thought quickly. Gun? She had one, but waving it on a subway car seemed like a bad idea. "I'll scream," she threatened.

He grinned and gestured without looking to the mostly empty car. "So what?"

What would Vince do? Nancy thought. No. Vince was dead. What would Lily do? She sat up straighter and tried to shove the man away from her. "Get away from me or I'll kill you."

The man laughed. Her efforts had not moved him an inch, but now they were face to face. His eyes were amused, but there was something dark and hard beneath the surface. "I don't think so, pretty girl." He brought both hands up and took hold of her shoulders, hard. "What's your name?"

Nancy reached under her jacket and drew her gun, keeping it low and between their bodies. "My name," she said firmly, "is Get the Fuck Away from Me."

He looked slowly down at the gun, then back at her face, and grinned. "Feisty one. I like that in a girl."

"Go."

He backed off the seat and stood up. He was clearly not very concerned about the gun. "Temper like that, you ought to be a redhead." He walked away from her, then turned back. "See you around, Pretty Girl."

He sauntered up the aisle, opened the door and walked into the next car.

Trembling, Nancy put her gun away. "I fucking hate this city."


	6. Chapter 6

The shrink, Lichtenwald, was sixty and tiny, trim and precise. Nancy liked her. But she was reasonably certain that everything she said to the woman went right back to Control – or at least to Simms. She tailored her responses accordingly.

She didn't tell her about the man on the subway, and on her way out she wondered why. She'd handled the situation perfectly well. At least, she thought she had. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken to him in the first place. Perhaps she should have resolved it without drawing her weapon.

Perhaps he was just another freak, the kind you passed on every corner in this god-forsaken city.

In any case, she didn't tell her.

When their fifty-minute hour was over, Nancy went to Simms' office. He wasn't there. On a hunch, then, she trotted down to the basement, to the warren of cubicles where Romanov had a desk.

Her training officer was swearing very softly, in several languages, at her computer screen.

"Problems?" Nancy asked.

Lily glared at her, then softened. "Challenges," she corrected. "We are the Company. We don't have problems."

"What's the challenge, then?"

"Making data and equipment flow through the Balkans," Lily answered. She saved her file and shut down her computer. "It's not happening. Want to go for a drive?"

"Sure. Where to?"

Romanov gestured with her head to the two paper boxes beside her desk. "Vince's house."

"You said I couldn't go."

"You can't go to the funeral. But Irena said you could come and see her. The kids will be at Grandma's."

"Oh. Okay." Nancy felt her heart in her throat. She had wanted so much to see Vince's wife, his family, to tell them how sorry she was, to try to make it right somehow. Now the reality hit her. She could tell them she was sorry, but she couldn't make it right. Nothing could make it right.

"You can stay here, if you'd rather," Lily offered.

"No, I'll go. I just, um, I need to … um …"

"Hit the head," Romanov interpreted. "Go on, I have to get some papers anyhow."

Nancy stalled in the bathroom for as long as she could. She splashed her face with cold water, dried it on the industrial-grade paper towels. It would all be fine, she was sure. Irena would be kind and loving. Lily would be supportive. It would be done, and she would feel better.

But at the moment, she felt like she was walking in the edge of a razor blade.

* * *

James Simms studied the print-out at his desk until the letters began to blur. He rubbed his eyes impatiently, glanced at his watch. Middle of the afternoon. He needed a nap. A _siesta_.

Control was right; he had to stop sleeping in his office.

He tried to read the document again, and again the letters swam away. Wearily, he gave up. He shut his office door, slipped off his shoes, and stretched out on the couch. Half an hour, he promised himself. His internal clock would wake him. It had never failed.

Horizontal and exhausted, he could not fall asleep.

The damn expense report still nagged at him.

Control had taken Romanov with him on a consolation visit, and on the way back they'd stopped for dinner. Control had picked up the tab and then expensed it, naming Romanov specifically. So what? It was all perfectly legitimate. Above board. On the up and up.

So why did it bother him?

Simms laid one forearm over his eyes. It bothered him only because of his suspicions about the true nature of Control's relationship with Romanov.

Suspicions of which he had absolutely no proof.

He had watched them, and he had very carefully poked around. He did not, above all, want Control to become suspicious of him. If the Old Man even thought that Simms was watching him … Control was not known for his tolerance for disloyalty. It would do Simms' career terminal damage. Or, perhaps, it would just be terminal.

So the most direct routes of obtaining information were out. He couldn't follow Lily Romanov and see where she went, who she met. Couldn't tap her phone or bug her apartment. Couldn't do anything that would lead back to him, under any circumstances.

The idea of eavesdropping on Control was even further out of reach. Thanks to Jason Masur, the man was fanatic about his anti-surveillance hygiene.

He'd reviewed Romanov's files thoroughly. If there was an affair, he reasoned, it had most likely started after she saved his life. A disgruntled employee named Reznick had tried to kill Control and Robert McCall, revenge for an incident long-since past. Romanov had stepped in front of the gun and been shot twice for her trouble. She should have died. The reports of the incident – filed by Control, McCall, and Mickey Kostmayer – were very consistent. Down to the last detail, consistent. Obviously cooked.

Sleep wasn't coming. Simms threw himself to his feet and paced, enjoying the freedom of his stocking feet.

Reznick had not been questioned because he was dead. Romanov did not file a report because she was recovering in a private hospital in France. She had been dispatched there by Control, personally.

Whatever the truth was about the shooting, it would never come out.

Control had not gone to France while she was recovering. When she returned, she'd been assigned to the Washington office. Control had gone to Washington often, but as far as Simms could tell, half of those times Romanov had been elsewhere. On her trips to New York, she was as likely to have been with McCall or Kostmayer as with Control.

At the time when their affair should have been starting, they had barely seen each other.

Eighteen months later, Lily Romanov had been taken captive in Central America. She had been held for seven weeks, raped and tortured by an especially brutal militia band. She was, at the time, declared missing and presumed dead. Control had done nothing to rescue her. Which was not, Simms imagined, how one normally treated one's mistress.

Since her return, she had worked out of the New York office. Control had been her champion against the bastards in DC, keeping her from the scrutiny of the Senate committee and the higher-ups in the Company, but he had done the same for others. He had, in fact, done the same for every person under his command who came to their attention. It was an expression for his loathing of the whole Central American operation, more than anything about an individual agent. There was nothing, nothing to indicate that she and Control were involved in anything beyond a working relationship.

Nothing except one dance at one party, and James Simms' gut instinct. And that damned expense report.

Even Control could not be so bold as to expense dinner with his mistress.

Could he?

Simms had no means of covert observation. He could only watch them together in the office. The two of them didn't even meet that often, and when they did, there were almost always others present. The time the three of them had spent talking Nancy Campbell down had told him nothing, except that Control had significant respect for Romanov's abilities. Hell, so did Simms. He wasn't sure he would have gotten Campbell to a safe house without her.

He still didn't know if the rookie was going to make it. Romanov's early reports were pretty luke-warm.

But Control was right, if there was any way to save her as a field agent, they needed her. He was five couriers short in the Balkans, minimum. Keep the information moving, keep the supplies moving. Control made it sound so easy. Simms was practically standing on his head to get it done, and it was still barely happening. Romanov had been a big help. She had creative ideas, fresh thinking. But what Simms really needed was more boots on the ground.

He felt the tickle of an idea, and he paced slowly, waiting for it to blossom. Find out about Control. Boots on the ground in the Balkans.

Can you expense your dinner with your mistress? Sure.

Can you send her to the most dangerous place on earth? When you know it's the most dangerous place on earth?

Simms stopped, and stood, and thought.

Sleep forgotten, he put on his shoes and went back to work.

* * *

"I recommend the turkey dinner," Lily said. "Lots of soft and comforting food."

Nancy nodded listlessly. She doubted she could have made even such a basic decision on her own right now. "You've been here before?" she asked, gesturing around the small restaurant.

"With Control. The first time we came to see Irena."

Control took her out to dinner. Nancy's jealousy flared, then dimmed and died. Of course he took Lily to dinner. She was the favorite, the golden girl. She was the tough one, the survivor. She deserved dinner with Control.

Nancy, on the other hand, was the failure, the near wash-out who might be salvageable. Maybe.

She had thought seeing Vince's widow would made her feel better. Instead, it had made her feel even worse.

Irena had been very kind to her. The woman had spoken gently, encouragingly. She had told Nancy how much Vince had liked her, how he'd praised her instincts and her intelligence. But somehow, sitting in that spotless living room, on the couch where Vince would never sprawl to watch a baseball game again, Nancy could not connect with her. She's said the right things, worn the right expressions. But she could feel an ocean of distance between them. This woman was the widow of someone Nancy had known, nothing more.

She couldn't, she recognized, allow herself to feel this woman's pain, or the comfort she offered. Either one would have broken her. So she'd shut down, gone through the motions, endured the visit, and longed to be back on the road.

Irena hadn't noticed, Nancy was sure. But she was equally sure that Lily Romanov had.

Romanov had seemed easy and natural, and if she was disconnected, Nancy couldn't see it. She had talked to Irena in quiet tones about Vince's body being returned, about making arrangements with the funeral home to receive him. She had agreed with the widow that Vince would far prefer to be buried in his golf shirt than in a suit. She had told her, gently but firmly, that there was no option of an open casket. She had delivered an envelope full of claim papers and information, and had promised to get answers to any questions Irena had as she completed them. She talked about finances, briefly, about health insurance and pension payments. She was very professional, business-like, but also compassionate.

I want to be just like her when I grow up, Nancy thought snidely. I want to be the golden girl.

I want to slap her pretty perfect teeth right out of her mouth.

Yet she couldn't wait to be back in the Mercedes and back on the road in Lily's comfortable silence.

"Turkey," she told the waitress.

"You okay?" Lily asked.

"Fine," Nancy answered dutifully. She sighed. "That just sucked."

"With Irena? You did fine."

"I thought it would make me feel better."

"And instead she's already fading into history."

Nancy nodded, surprised at her understanding. "Exactly."

Lily shrugged. "I think part of that is self-protection. We can't afford to feel other people's pain for very long. We know too many people who die."

"Doesn't that make us sort of … inhuman, though?"

"Yes."

Nancy frowned. "I was hoping you'd contradict me there."

"Sorry."

"I'm going to go use the ladies' room before dinner gets here."

Lily nodded and picked up the dessert card from the center of the table.

The restrooms were down a short white hall next to the kitchen, at a right angle to the exit. Nancy used the facilities, washed her hands and splashed her face again. It didn't really help. She still felt dull and disconnected. She wanted to go back to bed.

Dinner first.

She stepped out of the restroom and shut the door quietly behind her. When she looked up, there was a man standing at the entrance door. She glanced past him, then snapped back.

It was the man from the subway.

He grinned and stepped out the door.

"What the …" Nancy said under her breath. She checked her gun and followed him out.

He was gone.

She looked both ways, surprised. There was no one in the parking lot. No cars running. He might have ducked between the parked cars, she thought, or gone around the side of the building. But how could he have vanished so fast?

Maybe she hadn't even seen him at all.

Nancy hesitated, rolling up on the balls of her feet. Chase after him? Which way? Where did she start? Go back inside and get Lily? And tell her what? I think I saw a guy I shouldn't have spoken to on the subway this morning? And he smiled at me?

She sighed. She was imagining things. And she damn well wasn't going to let Romanov know it.

She returned to her table. The waitress brought their dinner.

"Something wrong?" Lily asked.

Nancy shook her head. "No. Everything's fine."

* * *

"She has such a crush on you," Lily teased gleefully.

"Of course she does," Control rumbled. "All my young subordinates fall for me, sooner or later."

"And you don't fall back, which leads her to believe that you might be gay."

Control frowned. "She thinks I'm gay, but has a crush on me anyhow."

"Nancy Campbell in a nutshell."

"Hmmm. And did you correct her misconception?"

"Well, I tried," Lily answered. "But since I couldn't give her a detailed rebuttal – something about multiple showerheads and snow cones – I'm not sure I convinced her."

"Ah, the snow cones," Control remembered fondly. "We really must do that again some time."

"Slushies next time," Lily agreed. "I tried to tell her about the ballerina, but she didn't buy it."

"Old news," he sighed. "I wonder where she is now."

"The ballerina? Artistic director in Cleveland."

"Really?"

"I looked her up. I like to keep track of the competition."

"Cleveland's on the way to Chicago," he mused. "I suppose I could stop over. Put some of these rumors to bed. As it were."

"Dangerous," Lily replied. "If Nancy's sure you're not gay, she's likely to be completely overcome."

"I suppose you're right." Control sighed. "Still, I feel the need to do _something_ to assuage my wounded masculinity."

"Mmmmm," Lily purred. "Critical wound or merely insult?"

"Mild bruising, I'd say."

"Prescribed treatment for bruises is ice, then heat," she answered. "Stay there. I have just the thing." She left the room, came back with a cup-sized container, which she rolled vigorously between her hands.

"What have you got there?" Control asked, concerned and intrigued.

Lily grinned wickedly. "Souvenir from Yankee Stadium," she reported. "Lemon Ice."

"Ahhh." His whole body shifted in anticipation.

She peeled the foil top off the container and licked it slowly. "Not to worry, my sweet. I'll make it feel all better."

He sighed raggedly. "You always do."

* * *

Nancy walked towards the club slowly. The evening was cool, the sidewalk nearly empty. She'd been looking forward to seeing this jazz group for weeks, but that was before Prague. Now it seemed as uninteresting as the rest of her life.

Still, she'd mentioned it to Lily, and the senior agent had said she should go. "Don't sit around your apartment and brood," Lily said. "Get out, even for a little while. It helps, believe me."

Nancy believed her. So she changed and she went, if only for a little while.

The headline group was already playing when she got to the door. The sign said there was a five dollar cover, but there was no one taking money, so she kept her money and slipped inside.

The club was small and smoky. There were lights on the stage, and over the bar, but the audience was in half-darkness. All of the small tables were taken, but there was room at the bar and at a long counter on the other side of the floor.

Nancy went to the service area of the bar and got herself a draft. She was most definitely not going to get drunk again, not tonight, not alone. She took her beer and made her way across the back of the room to the counter.

The man turned and looked at her. He winked, then turned away.

_Run_, Nancy's first instinct said. Her second said, get this over with. She looked around. The bar was fairly full. People who would help her if she got in trouble. Maybe. She checked her gun, in a holster at her waist, under her jacket. This was as good a time as any.

She marched over to the man. "Why are you following me?" she demanded.

He turned towards her again. "I was here first, Pretty Girl."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I _was_ listening to the band, but now I'm listening to you run your mouth."

"Yeah," a patron at the nearest table said, "shut up."

"I saw you at the restaurant in Jersey," Nancy insisted, lowering her voice. "I know you're following me."

The man grinned. "You're pretty, girl, but I wouldn't follow you to Jersey if you were the last piece of ass on the planet."

"Leave me alone. I'm warning you."

"Shut _up_!" the patron said again.

The man never stopped grinning. "You're kinda psycho, aren't you?"

"I am warning you," Nancy said firmly, "you stay the fuck away from me!"

"Such an ugly mouth on such a pretty girl." He tsk'd his tongue. "Damn shame." Then he turned and watched the band again.

Somehow the sight of his back was more infuriating than his careless grin had been. Nancy put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him around. "I am warning you," she said again. "I have a gun, and I know how to use it. If I see you again …"

The stalker grabbed her hand with terrifying speed and bent her fingers back. "Don't touch me, Pretty Girl," he said. His voice dropped; his eyes glittered dangerously, and still he looked amused. "When I want you to touch me, I'll let you know. Until then, keep your hands to yourself."

The bouncer came over, summoned by the annoyed patron at the nearest table. "There a problem here?" he rumbled.

"This guy's following me," Nancy stammered.

"I been here for an hour," the man answered, still holding her fingers. "She just walked in and started up with me. Says she has a gun, says she's going to shoot me if I don't stop following her." He made a circular gesture at his temple with his free hand.

"That true?" the bouncer demanded.

"He's following me," Nancy insisted, her voice growing louder and higher. "He was in the subway this morning, and he was at the restaurant in Jersey and now he's here …"

"I been here for an hour!" The man released her fingers finally. "You better get this psycho out of here."

"I am not crazy!" Nancy screeched.

"You need to go, lady," the bouncer said. He put his meaty hand all the way around her upper arm.

"But I … he …"

"Right now, lady." He steered her towards the door.

"I'm _going_," Nancy snapped. She pulled her arm away from the bouncer and stomped to the door.

On her way out, she stopped and looked towards her stalker again. He was watching her go. He raised his beer in a silent toast, grinned in his maddening way, and turned casually back towards the band.


	7. Chapter 7

"Good Lord," Romanov said. "You shoot worse than I do."

Nancy growled. She was normally quite a good shot. But this morning she couldn't hit the target to save her life. So much for making a good impression on her training agent.

She had not slept. She could not stop thinking about the Man on the subway. Somewhere in the night she'd started thinking about him with a capital letter. Not just a man, now, but the Man.

She didn't know whether to be frightened or furious. She had made a very big fool of herself at the club. He _had_ been there before her; how could he be following her? And how would he have followed her to the restaurant in Jersey? And why? She had to be imagining things. So she'd seen him in the subway and he'd been rude, and then she'd imagined him, and then he was, by coincidence, at the same club she'd gone to. None of it meant anything. It was just her nerves, making far too much of the normal little frictions of New York living.

She took a deep breath and tried to steady her aim. She still couldn't hit the target.

"Something bothering you?" Lily asked gently.

"You mean besides getting Vince's brains on my shirt?" Nancy snapped. "No, not a damn thing."

Romanov nodded sagely. "I had a problem with guns after I got shot. Maybe you should talk it over with Lichtenwald."

"Sure, I'll do that," Nancy grumbled. She hated being reminded that she had to see the shrink again – ten visits, at least. Company policy. See the woman and lie to her again. Tell her what she wanted to hear. What Simms and Romanov and Control wanted to hear.

"I can't do this today," Nancy said.

"Okay," Lily answered agreeably. "Let's pack it up, then. We'll come back another time."

Sweetness and light, Nancy thought bitterly. Nice as pie. The golden girl. She got to go to dinner with Control. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

Lily took the gun gently from her hands. "Let me see a minute." She looked down the sites towards the target, pulled the trigger. "The site seems funny. A little off to the right."

Nancy shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with the gun. It's just me."

"Maybe," Lily agreed. "But it can't hurt to have it checked out. I'm having one of mine pro cleaned, anyhow. Let me drop it off and see what Spencer thinks."

Nancy nodded listlessly. "Okay." Then, suddenly, the idea of being unarmed was frightening. "No, I'd feel better if I had a gun."

"I've got a spare in the car you can carry until you get yours back," Romanov offered.

Always prepared, aren't you? Nancy glowered. "Okay."

She followed her out to the car and took the gun Lily gave her.

* * *

Someone had been in her apartment.

Nancy stood with her hand on the door and looked at her couch. The slip cover, always smooth, was disheveled, indented where someone had been lying on it. The throw pillows, normally neatly at each end, were stacked at one end, and dented as well. Someone had been sleeping on her couch.

"What the hell?" Nancy muttered. Her training kicked in. She drew her gun, left the door open, and stepped into the room. There was no one hiding in the coat closet. She moved carefully into the hallway, her gun poised in front of her. No, not her gun. Lily's spare. Nancy frowned. It was a little heavier, a little thicker in the grip. She wanted her own gun.

No one in the hall, no one in the bathroom, no one in the kitchen. No one in the bedroom, but the bed, neatly made when she left, was also rumpled.

Someone lying on her couch and on her bed. Nancy shuddered.

She checked the closet and under the bed. Then, still checking as she went, she made her way back to the living room, shut the door, locked it, put the chain on.

Then she sagged against the door and cried.

It was him, Him. It had to be. He'd been in her apartment. Lain on her bed, gone through her things, who knew what else. It was Him.

She felt sick.

The phone rang, and she jumped, half-screamed. It rang a second time. She wiped at her eyes and grabbed it. "H-hello?"

"Nancy?" a man yelled.

"Mark!" She began to cry again. "Oh, Mark!"

"Nancy, what's wrong?" He was half a world away, on a horrible connection, and he could hear her crying, her fear. "What is it?"

"It's … it's … nothing. It's nothing. I was just … it's nothing. How are you? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just checking up on you. You okay?"

"I'm okay," she assured him. It occurred to her that maybe, maybe her phone was bugged. By the Company? Why not? They wanted to know everything about her. She tried to make her voice calmer. "It's been a rough couple days, but I'm okay. You?"

"Same shit, different flies," he reported. "I can't talk long, but I thought I'd take a chance on getting you. It's not the middle of the night there, is it?"

"No, it's afternoon."

"Man, I'll never get used to this time change thing. Look, I don't know when I'm going to get home, but I wanted to tell you, if you need to talk to somebody, you know, on the outside, you might give Mr. McCall a yell."

"McCall?"

"Yeah. You met him at the party. He's retired."

"I know," Nancy answered, confused. "But he's still kinda … in, isn't he?"

"Doesn't matter. If you need somebody, give him a call. He'll help you. Whatever you need."

Nancy sighed. She needed help, all right, but she didn't think anybody could help her. "Okay," she said dubiously. "I'll keep it in mind."

"I don't have his phone number, but it's in his ad in the paper."

"His … what?"

"In the paper. Call the Equalizer. Go look, you'll find it."

"Ahhhhh … okay."

"If you need him."

"I'll remember."

There was a pause. "Hey, Nancy?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I love you."

Nancy burst into tears again. "I love you too, Mark."

"I gotta go. See you when I can."

"Uh-huh."

The phone went dead. Nancy hung up the receiver tenderly. She was still weeping, but it didn't matter. He loved her? He'd never said that before. She needed it, today. Even if he didn't really mean it, he must have known she'd needed it, and he'd said it …

It was all too complicated.

She walked through her apartment again, looking carefully for further evidence of her intruder. In the bedroom, she smoothed her covers, picked up her pillow to fluff it.

On the bed, under the pillow, he had left a match book from the jazz club.

Nancy froze. Then she ran down the hall to the kitchen and hauled her trash out from under the sink. There, beneath coffee grounds and a banana peel, was yesterday's newspaper. She unfolded it over the sink and ripped through to the ads. What the hell would it be listed under? Hero needed? Damsels in distress?

Got a Problem

Need Help

Odds Against You?

"Damn straight," Nancy said, and marched to her phone.

* * *

"You have to help me," the young woman said desperately.

Robert McCall looked dourly around the small apartment, with its dime-store art and painfully cheerful pink curtains. He folded his arms and turned back to the young woman. "Why?"

She blinked. "I just told you …"

"Yes, yes, you told me," Robert answered firmly. "You've been stalked by this man and you believe he broke into your apartment. Why have you not simply called the police?"

Nancy hesitated. "The Company …"

"I am not aware of any Company policy which would preclude your report of a simple break-in to the local authorities."

She looked away. "I can't."

"Why?" A sick, weary apprehension grew in Robert's experienced mind. He was tired of the game already. "What did he take, Miss Campbell? What did you have in this apartment that you should not have had? What top-secret document has gone missing, hmm?"

"It's nothing like that," she protested quickly. "I wouldn't … I'd never … you don't understand."

"No. I do not understand."

She paced, no easy trick in the tiny living room. Then she faced him again. "They want to fire me."

"The Company?"

"Yes."

"That would be the best thing that ever happened to you."

"Mr. McCall, you don't understand."

"As you have said repeatedly," he answered gruffly. "And yet you have not offered a coherent explanation."

Nancy sighed. "Look, I … can we sit down?"

"Yes," Robert answered, and did.

Nancy sat next to him on the couch, one leg pulled up under her in a distinctly school-girl way. "Look, none of this can get back to them. Not to Control, not to anyone. I wouldn't have called you at all, except Mark said I could trust you and I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Mark?"

"Mark O'Donnell." She gestured to her forehead. "With the scar."

"Ah, young Mark. Go on."

"But not Control, not Romanov, nobody. Right?"

McCall frowned mildly. Those two names in the same sentence didn't bode well. "As far as I am able, I will keep your confidence. If you ever get around to confiding in me."

Nancy considered him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "I was Vince Norris' trainee."

"Vince was just killed in Prague."

"I was with him. And I … lost it. Completely."

"Ah," Robert said evenly. "Control is unaware of that fact?"

"He knows," Nancy reported sadly. "All I could think to do was call the home office. So I … ended up in a phone booth, on the phone with Simms, and then with Romanov. They … found me a safe house, Lily talked me into moving … I was … I lost it."

McCall nodded his understanding. "So you're finished as a field operative."

"Not yet," she answered. "Control thinks I might be … salvageable."

Robert almost smiled at that. He could hear that word in his friend's voice too well. Salvageable, indeed. Very generous of him.

The Company must be positively desperate.

"So I'm seeing the Company shrink, and I'm working with Lily, well, not working, just hanging out, really …"

"Lily Romanov?" Robert asked, finally seeing how the courier – and his friend's best-kept secret – was figuring into the whole scenario.

"She took over my training."

"Ah." Interesting choice, if perplexing, McCall thought.

"She's been … she's tried really hard, she has. I think they really want me to make it. Simms, too. But if _this_ comes out now ... I mean, he's just some stupid stalker, I should be able to handle it myself, I thought I was okay until he was _here_, in my apartment … I don't even know how he found out where I live. And if he got in here once …" She began to tremble, then fought it down.

Robert sighed heavily. "You want me to locate this man and dissuade him from any further contact with you."

"Yes."

"So that you can continue as a courier with the Company."

"Well … yes."

"You hesitated."

She continued to hesitate. "I'd like to be a field op. Some day."

"Of course." Robert had never met a courier who didn't think they should actually be a field operative. With one notable exception. "You want me to remove this obstacle so that you can pursue your career in espionage."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Nancy blinked. "Why?"

"Why," Robert asked firmly, "do you want this career?"

"If I can't be in the field, they'll find me a desk job. They'll stick me at a desk for the rest of my life. If I have to work in an office, five days a week forever, I think I'll just … die. I really do."

"Yes, yes," McCall said impatiently. "But that's not what I asked. Why do you want to be a spy, Miss Campbell?"

She shrugged uncertainly. "It's never boring," she tried to kid.

"No, it is certainly not that."

"I can go anywhere. I can travel, I can see places … I can make a good living."

"Ah, yes. The recruiter's trio. Travel, adventure, and money." Robert shook his head sadly, bitterly as he stood up. "Call the police, Miss Campbell, and report the break-in. Let the Company make of it what they will. Take the desk job, or quit entirely. Get out while you still can."

Nancy shot to her feet. "No."

McCall turned. "No?"

"I am not giving up. If you won't help me, then I'll take care of this on my own. But I am not giving up. I could be a good agent, Mr. McCall, and I could make a difference."

"Make a difference how?"

"I don't know yet. But I know I can."

McCall shook his head. "My dear girl …"

"Don't you write me off. I know I probably look all naive and idealistic, and maybe I am. But I was at the party, when the Berlin Wall came down. And I know that wasn't about one politician making one decision, or one Congress or even one army. That was about a whole lot of people doing little things, for years, one little thing at a time until the whole thing collapsed. And now people that lived under Communist rule for three decades are free. I want to be part of the next thing. At the next party, I want to be able to say, yeah, I did my part to make this happen." Her speech ran out of steam. "I am not going to give that up," she finished.

Robert studied her. So very sincere, she was, and she was right, so painfully naive. For an instant, she reminded him of an equally earnest, idealistic young man, a young man brimming with noble intentions and patriotic fervor. It hurt to remember. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" he asked quietly.

"I had my partner's brains on my shirt last week," Nancy answered tightly. "I have a pretty good idea."

"No. If that was the worst of it, watching the people you care about die … it would almost be bearable. But betraying the people you care about, and being betrayed by them, that is harder, my dear. Lying to everyone you love, every day of your life. Befriending and betraying as a matter of routine. Breaking your heart on missions that you think are doing great good, only to learn that they were simply a matter of convenience. And worst of all, lying to yourself so that you can live with the things you are asked to do, with the things you've done. Betraying the very ideas that now lure you to this great adventure. You haven't begun yet to see the level of dishonor this job will lead you to. I am telling you, from the other side, Miss Campbell, do not enter this swamp. Walk away while you still can."

She looked him squarely in the eye. "No."

Robert sighed heavily. No one could have told him at that age, either.

He sat back down on the couch. "Tell me about your stalker," he said.

* * *

Control read the reports thoroughly. He wanted there to be some loophole, some missing piece. Something that didn't fit.

He wanted Vince Norris to have been killed over something more meaningful that an unknown man's domestic troubles.

There was nothing.

He put the folder down and sat back, closed his eyes. He traced the case one more time in his mind. A to B to C, clean and neat. Perhaps a little too neat. But perhaps not.

Twenty-two years as an agent and a trainer, and Vince Norris had been killed by a jealous husband, because of a woman he had never laid eyes on.

Control didn't like it. But he saw no holes, either.

* * *

Reluctantly, he stood up and put the file in his pending file, at the very back. Mentally, he did the same. Some day, maybe, some new fact would come to his attention and suddenly the whole picture would change. But for now, and perhaps for always, he would have to accept the facts that he had.

He closed the drawer reverently and turned his attention to his next task.

McCall regarded the small box of electronics ruefully. Of course, he was perfectly _capable_ of installing the camera on his own. He just preferred not to.

Strongly.

The phone rang. "Robert McCall," he said smartly.

"Hey, McCall, what's up?"

"Mickey, where have you been?"

"Out chasing broads. How about you?"

"I need your help this afternoon."

"Ahhh … can't do it, McCall. Previous engagement."

"What sort of engagement?"

Kostmayer paused. "Stock's in town, though."

"Mmmm." Robert considered. Nancy had begged him not to tell the Company. Bad enough he was bringing Mickey in, though he trusted his friend absolutely. Mickey would just install the camera and ask no questions. Stock, while trustworthy, tended to be a very curious lad. "I'll see if I can manage on my own."

"Your call."

"This is about the ball game, isn't it?" Robert said suddenly.

"Get over yourself, McCall."

* * *

Nancy Campbell was nearly fresh from the Farm. She proved very able, if not especially quick, in installing her own surveillance system.

McCall watched her closely, but could find no flaw in her technique. When she was done, he showed her a few tricks the Company hadn't taught her. Then he stood just inside the door in her apartment and contemplated their work.

The camera was neatly concealed behind the annoying pink curtains. The wires were invisible behind curtains and the rug. The recorder was in a cabinet, the sound of its small motor sufficiently muffled. The motion sensor beam crossed the door barely above the floor.

If Nancy's stalker returned, they would have a lovely picture of him.

"Good," he pronounced. "Now, here is the remote. When you come in, turn the sensor off. Otherwise we'll end up with hours of tape of you wandering about, and none of your stalker. When you leave for the day, and when you go to bed at night, turn it on. Understand?"

"Simple enough," Nancy agreed.

"Yes. The best plans are generally the simple ones." He made a mental note to stop trying to teach this child. He did not want any part in her inevitable folly. "Every morning you will go to the office at the same time. Once you are there, you will remain with someone at all times, unless you are inside the building. If you see this man while you're at work, you will bring him to the attention of your superiors immediately. Do you understand? No dallying, no hesitation. If he is inside Company property, he is more dangerous than you or I are prepared to deal with."

Nancy nodded gravely.

Robert shrugged. "I would be very, very surprised if that happened." He crossed and adjusted the camera lens minutely. "You will leave the office at the same time every day. You will call me before you leave there. If at all possible, you will take the same train home. You will not come directly to this apartment. You will browse the shops between here and the subway station. You will stop at the grocer and buy items for your dinner. You will see a movie at that little theatre, perhaps, or stop for a drink. You will do the same sort of thing at the same time, every day."

"But that gives him a pattern to work off."

"Precisely. I am moving on the assumption that this man is not a professional. We want to make it as easy as possible for him to get to you."

She seemed a bit paler. "Oh."

"I will be watching you," Robert assured her. "From the time you leave the subway until the time you reach home, you will be under my surveillance. You will not see me, but I will be there. And if this man approaches you, I will be right behind him. I can assure you of that."

She smiled, reassured. "How will you know it's him?"

"You will run your hand over your hair, like this." He demonstrated, brushing his own hair casually back. "You will, of course, not do any such thing if the man is not approaching, right?"

"Right."

"I have your description of him. If you give the signal, I will catch him and we will put an end to this little game he's playing. Understand?"

"I understand. Thank you."

McCall nodded gruffly. "You can thank me after we've stopped him, hmm?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Better," Lily said. "Much better."

Nancy nodded thoughtfully as she reeled the target in. She had managed to make a number of holes in it today. Only two were effective kill shots, but four more would have dropped the guy, anyhow. "Maybe my gun really was off."

"I dropped it off with the gunsmith. He should have it done in a day or two."

"Thanks." She glanced at Lily's target. "Umm … something bothering _you_?"

"No, why?" Romanov followed her gaze to her own target. It was pristinely unmarked. "No, I can't ever shoot targets."

"Oh," Nancy said uncertainly. "Is, um, that how you ended up shooting Mark?"

"_I_ did not shoot Mark, damn it! I fired one shot, and it went cleanly through the heart of the man I was aiming at. I don't know who shot Mark, but it wasn't me."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Lily growled softly. "Never mind."

"So now what?"

"I don't know. I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do with you, besides fill out your paperwork. Anyhow, I have to run an errand this afternoon. Do you want to pack up the books in Vince's office?"

"I can't come on the errand?" Nancy asked.

"No."

"Okay. Just put the books in paper boxes?"

"And label them. Then ask Munchie to borrow his cart and put them in a locker in the dungeon. I'm sure the tie boys will want them, sooner or later, but for now they want the office space."

"I'll take care of it."

"Thanks." Lily glanced at her watch. "Let's get some lunch."

They had lunch in the grubby, odd-smelling cafeteria. Lily left, and Nancy went up to Vince's office. It seemed oddly cold, impersonal without his pictures, his coffee mug full of pencils, his Ziggy statue. It had gone from being Vince's office to just being any office.

Vince had left the building.

Nancy shook her head sadly. It made her a little angry that her grief was already loosing its edge. She pulled three books from the top shelf and plunked them into a box. Her life was moving on – not prettily, but moving anyhow – and she was already leaving Vince behind.

She wanted to cry. Instead she packed his books.

She wondered if the Man was in her apartment at this moment. Sleeping on her bed. Looking in her refrigerator, or her laundry hamper. Miserable creep. She hoped he ate the outdated yogurt and got sick.

She didn't know what she would have done without Mr. McCall. He was so calm, so reassuring – so professional. She knew he was making her a moving target for this stalker, but she didn't mind. She was absolutely confident he would watch over her.

Nancy closed one box and labeled it. She wondered if she should tell Romanov about her mystery guest. She felt guilty, keeping it a secret from her. Lily was her training agent, after all. She should be able to confide in her. Lily didn't exactly seem like a Company drone; she would probably keep it in confidence, not report it to Simms unless it became Company business somehow.

Yet Nancy's deepest instinct told her not to trust the older agent entirely.

Besides, McCall would take care of it, in the next day or two, and that would be the end of it.

"Campbell?"

Nancy jumped. Her hand was in her gun before she turned.

"Easy," Simms said apologetically. He stood in the doorway, his hands vaguely out to his sides, making no threatening moves. "Just me."

"Sorry," Nancy said. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."

"Where's Romanov?"

"She said she had to run an errand this afternoon."

Simms looked at his watch. "She's off to meet the body then. Good. Thank you." He turned and walked away.

Off to meet the body, Nancy repeated in her mind. Off to meet Vince's body when they flew him in. Company people can't go to the funeral, but they could meet the plane when their fallen comrade came home. She should have gone along. Romanov should have taken her along.

She was vengefully glad she'd kept her secret about her stalker.

* * *

After work, Nancy made her telephone call per McCall's instructions, then got on the subway. She did not see the Man.

She got off three blocks from her apartment. She stopped at a little boutique and browsed through dresses. She stopped at the grocery store, and also at the tavern.

She did not see the Man.

She didn't see McCall, either, but that didn't surprise her. She'd asked about him at the office. He was the king of the spooks. She wouldn't see him unless he wanted her to – unless she needed him.

Nancy looked at her watch. She'd dallied, as instructed, for more than two hours. She gave one last look around, then went home.

She remembered to shut off the alarm system before she tripped the camera on. She checked the apartment, but found no signs of her intruder. Then she checked the recorder. Nothing.

The Man had not shown up.

Nancy found herself curiously disappointed.

Her phone rang. Nancy jumped, then shook her head. She already knew who it was. "Hello?"

"No sign of your visitor?" McCall asked.

"Not a hint."

"We'll try again tomorrow," Robert said calmly, and hung up.

"Looking forward to it," Nancy answered.

* * *

The next day passed without incident. Nancy wanted to confront Romanov about her errand, but she decided not to; the woman would only have some smug answer anyhow. She was cool to her all day, but Lily either didn't notice or didn't care.

Nancy pursued her same after-work charade as well. Again, the Man didn't show.

The only bright part of the day was that Mark called that night, just as she was falling asleep. She didn't tell him about the stalker, or about McCall. She managed, for once, to sound half-way sane when she talked to him.

She was, she decided, definitely getting better.

* * *

On the third day, it had all become routine. Go to the office, pretend she was doing something useful. See the shrink again and lie outrageously. Ride the train home, putter around on the street. She almost forgot to watch for Him.

Then, just as she was giving up for the night, she stepped out of the deli and looked to her left and He was there. Two blocks up, on the corner, leaning against the wall. He had his arms folded over his chest, and he was staring right at her. He'd been waiting for her to come out.

Nancy froze. She couldn't, for one wild minute, remember what to do. Then she reached up and ran her hand through her hair.

Nothing happened. The Man didn't move, didn't approach her. McCall did not appear. No thunder clap of revelation, no lightning bolt of resolution. Just people on the sidewalk, unaware bystanders, a man staring at a woman staring back.

Then the Man turned around the corner and was gone.

Nancy licked her lips. He was gone. He hadn't come towards her, he'd turned away. He was gone.

McCall was coming, and the Man was moving further away.

She touched her gun and went after him. She walked at first, quickly, and then she ran. She stopped just short of the corner where he's vanished and rounded it with caution.

He was gone.

She hurried down to the first doorway, thinking perhaps he was hiding there. Nothing. She tested the security door. It was locked tight. She stepped back onto the sidewalk and looked, hard, both ways.

Nothing.

"Damn it," she swore, with great feeling.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?" Robert McCall demanded.

"He was here – on the corner, it was him, he was here."

"So you went chasing after him? That was never a part of the plan."

"But I saw him, he was right here …" Nancy caught her breath. "Did you see him?"

McCall shook his head. "I saw you, saw your signal, but I couldn't see who you were looking at. You should have let him get closer."

"He didn't come any closer, he just turned around and walked up this way. Damn it."

"Well," Robert said slowly, "I don't think my surveillance has been compromised. We'll try again tomorrow."

Nancy shook her head in frustration. "He was right _here_." She looked at Robert anxiously. "You still believe me, don't you?"

"I believe you," McCall said soothingly. "Perhaps he was just watching you to get a sense of your pattern. We'll try again tomorrow. But tomorrow we will stick to the plan, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now go home, try to get some sleep."

"All right. Thank you."

He smiled tightly. "When I've caught him, right?"

"Right."

* * *

Nancy went home. She was weary, afraid that McCall was losing confidence in her. McCall, Romanov, Simms – Control? They were all losing confidence in her.

She was losing confidence in herself.

She stepped through her door and reached for the remote. Then she froze.

Her couch, which had been neatly smoothed that morning, was badly rumpled again.

Nancy crossed to the little cabinet and opened the door. The recorder light blinked cheerfully at her.

"Gotcha!" she exclaimed gleefully.

Belatedly, she thought to search the apartment. The Man was long gone. The phone rang, and Nancy practically skipped to tell McCall her news.

* * *

The Man came into the apartment and slipped something – probably his lock pick – into his pocket. He looked around, wandered the living room, picked things up and put them down. Flipped through the book that Nancy had been reading. Took out the book mark and tossed the book to the floor. Jumped on the couch repeatedly. Left the living room. He was gone about three minutes, then came back with an apple in his hand. He ate as he browsed the room again, then let himself out.

"I don't get it," Nancy said. "He didn't take anything. He isn't even looking for anything. Why does he keep coming here?"

"To frighten you," Robert said grimly. He took the remote and rewound the tape, watched it again in its entirety. "He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he was here. He wants you to know, and to be afraid."

"If it wasn't for you," Nancy confessed, "I _would_ be afraid."

McCall glanced at her. He rewound the tape yet again, played the first few seconds, then froze the frame. The man was looking nearly straight at the camera, in fairly good light. He was exactly as Nancy had described him. Medium height and build, though he seemed a little heavy in the chest. Brown hair, neither short nor long, intense eyes. Oh, yes.

"Do not be afraid," Robert said firmly. "Now that I've seen him, I believe I may know where to locate this man."

"Really? Where? Let's go."

"No. No." McCall stood up and took the tape from the player. "You will stay here. Lock your door, maintain your routine, and do not be afraid. I'll contact you when I've located him."

"I want a chance to talk to him. I want to tell him to leave me alone."

Robert regarded her dispassionately. "You have already done that. It didn't work."

"But I …"

"I will handle this matter, and I will let you know when it is taken care of. Understand?"

She didn't like it, but she nodded her agreement. "I understand."

"Good. Good. I will be in touch. Sleep well."

Nancy let him out, and locked and chained the door behind him. She considered her room, then set about straightening things. "Gotcha," she said to herself, one more time.

* * *

Robert McCall leaned one elbow against the roof of the Jaguar and considered the tape in his hand.

So Nancy Campbell genuinely was being stalked. He had had some suspicions to the contrary. But the stalker was real, and he had the proof.

What was more, he knew who the stalker was, and he knew exactly where to find him. Better, he was reasonably sure the woman was in no actual danger, though she had every reason to be convinced that she was.

The only question that remained was _why_ this particular man was stalking Nancy Campbell.

There were a number of possible answers. Robert didn't like any of them. He was damned well going to find out the truth. Very soon.

Grimly, he tucked the tape into his jacket and got into the car.

* * *

Romanov called in at eight the next morning and said that she'd be in late. Personal business, she said.

Simms thanked her for the call and hung up his phone, humming thoughtfully. Personal business. They weren't normally very strict about when field employees came and went. They put in a ton of overtime when they were on assignment. But it intrigued him, that Lily was taking time on a morning when Control wasn't expected in the office. The boss flying out to D.C. that morning. Supposedly on the early flight.

But there were flights all day, and it was a short hop. Stay in bed with your lover all morning and still be there by lunchtime.

Interesting.

He stood and walked down to the break room to refill his coffee. Suggestive, but by no means conclusive.

It became far less suggestive when he reached the break room and found Control rinsing out his own coffee cup.

"You're here," Simms blurted.

"Yes, I know," Control returned.

"I … uh … thought you were going to Washington."

The older man nodded. "I am. Leaving now. I just wanted to put a few things in motion before I left."

"Oh."

"Something you need?" Control asked, thoroughly drying his mug and putting it in the cupboard.

"No," Simms stammered. "No, I just … need one more cup of coffee before I'm up to speed."

"I know the feeling. Pot's fresh."

"Thanks."

"You know where to reach me."

Simms nodded. "Have a safe trip."

Control grunted and walked out.

Simms sighed heavily in relief. Damn, but he'd almost blown that. How long had Control been here? Hours, most likely. He could check the phone logs – but he wouldn't. He wasn't feeling especially suicidal today.

So Romanov had personal business, and it wasn't with Control.

Interesting, and suggestive of nothing.

Simms poured himself more coffee and went back to his office to reconsider.

* * *

When Lily got to Robert McCall's apartment, Kostmayer let her in. "Hey, Lil."

"Hey, Mickey. What are you doing here?"

Mickey shrugged.

"Okay," Lily amended, "what am_ I_ doing here?"

"Don't know that, either."

"Hmm." She stepped into the room. It was almost flawlessly neat, except that Robert's TV stand, which was generally tucked away in the den, was in front of the fireplace.

Robert joined them. "Good morning, Lily. Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure."

He got her a cup. "Sit down," he invited, indicating the couch. "Sit down, I have something to show you."

"Hey, McCall," Mickey said, sinking onto the couch, "I already told you …"

"You're busy, I know. I know. But this particular matter I can resolve in just a very little time, with your assistance. And I suspect I will need your assistance also, Lily."

She nodded. "Whatever you need."

He considered her, half-smiled. "Yes. Well. Earlier this week I was called to help a rather frightened young woman. She was being harassed by a man – the usual story, you know – and she was afraid to go to the police, because she was afraid her employer wouldn't like it. It seemed simple enough, even without Mickey's assistance. Track the woman, find the man, warn him off."

"Nothing to it," Mickey said dryly. "What went wrong?"

"Actually, it all went according to plan. I have located and identified her stalker, and I am prepared to confront him."

"But you need a little back-up," Kostmayer guessed.

"And a little bait," Lily added.

McCall nodded sagely. "Watch, and I think you'll see exactly what I need." He turned on the TV, then the VCR.

Five seconds into the tape, his two guests began to slump.

Robert made them sit through the whole tape anyhow.

When it ended, he shut it off and let the silence settle. "All right, children," he finally said. "What in bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"It was her idea," Mickey said immediately, pointing to Lily.

"I thought it was your idea."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was yours."

"Children!" Robert bellowed. "Someone will tell me, right now, why you are terrorizing this already-frightened young woman!"

There was another moment of silence. Kostmayer stood up. "I'm out." He walked to the kitchen and got more coffee.

Lily shifted. "We're seeing if we can break her."

"Of course you are." Robert drew himself up to his full height. "You're supposed to be her training agent. You're supposed to be _helping_ her! She's been through a major trauma, and now you're putting her through another one. What the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm supposed to decide if she can make it back in the field," Lily said.

"And _this_ was the best way to go about it? To stalk her, to terrify her?"

"She told me she ran before Vince even hit the ground. If he'd had any chance to survive, she would have blown it. She came apart in the field, Robert, and I'm not putting her back out there until I'm sure it won't happen again."

"Until she measures up to your standard for fortitude, is that is? Not everyone has your mettle, Lily. In fact, very few do. And to expect her to rise to your standards is grossly unfair. She's not like you. Couldn't you just accept that? Couldn't you have shown her a little compassion? A little mercy?"

"A little mercy, Robert, would be to wash her out of the field right now. To keep her safe at a desk, and have her never have to learn the things I know … and you know. _That _would be a little mercy." Lily paused. "But it's not what she wants. She wants a chance."

McCall stared at her. "She's not you, Lily."

"I'm not sending her out there until I'm sure that she won't freeze up and get herself killed. Or captured. Or get someone else killed."

McCall shook his head. "There must be a better way."

"Then tell me what it is, and we'll do it."

He paced to the kitchen and poured his own second cup of coffee. Mickey moved back to the couch, rewound the tape, and played it again. "At least you got my good side."

"Yes. Quite." Robert paced slowly around the room while the tape ran. "You have to give her some credit, you know. She did come up with an active solution to her problem."

"An original solution," Lily agreed. "One that we did not anticipate."

"Damn clever rookies," Mickey snorted.

Robert sat heavily in the arm chair. "What was the finale to be? How was this little charade to end?"

His two companions exchanged a look and a shrug. "I was going to confront her again," Mickey said. "Push it, hard. See if she'd try to shoot me."

"Ah," Robert said. "Bloody marvelous. I did think you looked a little heavy in the tape."

Kostmayer shrugged. "Camera adds ten pounds."

"And a bullet-proof vest adds another ten. And it's all fun and games until someone takes a head shot."

"She's fresh off the Farm," Lily countered. "Her training's too tight for that."

"You're willing to bet Kostmayer's life on that, are you?"

"For now. We're giving her own gun back tomorrow. Its firing pin might be a bit short."

Robert nodded. "Of course. Of course. And when she's forced to shoot him, and her gun won't fire …"

"She'll fold or she'll fight," Lily said.

"But that was before you were in the picture," Mickey added. "Now she'll just look to you."

"Hmmm." Robert thought for a long moment. "Yes, she will. She trusts me. More completely than she trusts you." He gestured to Lily. "I have tried to dissuade her from her chosen career path, as well. I told her she was entering a world where betrayal was the name of the game. Where you could trust no one."

"She didn't listen," Lily answered.

"No," Robert said solemnly. "Or she didn't believe me, at any rate." He pursed his lips. "Perhaps, just perhaps … " He closed his eyes and considered. Compassion. Mercy. Innocence. Betrayal.

Where the Company was involved, it was all fun and games.

He opened his eyes and sighed heavily. "Very well. We proceed."

"We?" Kostmayer asked carefully.

Robert nodded. "We."


	9. Chapter 9

Lily knocked lightly on Simms' open door. "You wanted to see me?"

He nodded. "Come in, sit down. Let me finish this up." He turned back to the papers on his desk while she settled in the chair across from him.

After a minute, he looked up again. "Campbell."

"Give me another day or two," Lily answered. "I'll have a better answer then."

Simms nodded. "You're making progress, then?"

"I'm … getting a much better idea about how she thinks."

"Good."

They were silent for a moment. "What else?" Lily prompted.

"I've been going over the Balkans logistics notes you made. It's good work, all of it."

"Thanks."

He shifted, framing his next words, watching her closely. "But I'm going to need you back in the field full time."

Romanov didn't even blink. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She blinked then. "I'm sorry, was it a question?"

"Not really, no."

Lily shrugged. "Okay."

"It's not a demotion. I want you to understand that. It's just a matter of necessity."

"Who's going to do the planning?"

"I am. You are, when you have time. But it won't be your primary assignment."

"When do I start?"

"As soon as you're done with Campbell."

"I could sign her off right now."

"No, take your days. Finish it up."

Lily sighed. "Damn. Should have told you I was done." There was another pause. "Anything else?"

"You don't have any questions? Comments?"

She considered him quizzically. "Should I have?"

"You've paid your dues, Romanov. We all know it. If you don't want to be in the field … now's the time to say so."

She sat back in her chair. "I can go back out for a while."

"For a while?" Simms repeated, surprised.

"For a while." Lily hesitated. "It's wearing me down. I won't lie to you about that. I can see a place where I won't be able to do it any more." She shrugged. "But I'm not there yet."

Simms nodded slowly. Her confession surprised him. But he'd reviewed her record, knew what she'd been through. He shouldn't have been surprised at all. "You let me know when you get there."

"I will." She stood up. "Anything else?"

"No. Keep me posted on Campbell."

"I will."

* * *

Control snagged the phone in his hotel room. "Yes?"

"We have a situation," she said.

"Critical?"

"No. Level three. Code two-forty-nine."

Control hesitated. They had codes, he and Lily. They went from one (I am fleeing the country and being pursued) to nine (we may have been discovered, proceed with caution) and then they got silly. He had no idea what 249 was. Something like, I desperately need to have my feet rubbed. It was not critical, not life-threatening. But the fact that she'd called him at all told him she did need to see him, and soon.

"Location seven," he answered. "You have my itinerary."

"Understood."

The phone went dead. The whole call had lasted perhaps ten seconds. Much too short to trace. Not that she would have called him from home anyhow.

Vaguely uneasy, but also confident that she had accurately assessed the severity of the situation, he dressed for his dinner meeting.

* * *

"Mr. McCall?"

"Hello, Nancy," he rumbled smoothly over the telephone.

Nancy looked around the mostly-empty cubicle farm. "I'm not sure you should have called me here. How did you even find me?"

"Never mind about that. But you're right, we should be brief. I have located your … gentleman friend."

"Already?"

"Yes. And I have a plan to dissuade his further interest. Come to my apartment when you leave work."

"I'll be there."

"Good. I shall be waiting."

"Hey, Nancy?"

Campbell whirled, slamming down the phone guiltily. Lily Romanov was leaning on the edge of the cubicle. "Sorry. Didn't know you were on the phone."

"I was done anyhow," Nancy said quickly. "You just startled me."

"Sorry. I got your gun back." Lily brought out Nancy's own weapon. It was brightly polished. "We were right, the sites were off just a little."

"Oh. Thanks." Nancy swapped her loaner gun with her own. They were similar automatics, but her own felt somehow reassuring in her hand. "What do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"No, really, I want to pay you back."

Lily shrugged. "Knowing that you have an accurate gun when you're behind me is payback enough. You got big plans for the weekend?"

Nancy shook her head. "No. Just … take care of some things around the house. Why? Do you want to do something? Go to the range or whatever?"

"No, not really. I plan to spend most of the weekend in bed."

"Alone?" Nancy teased.

"Could be," Lily returned dourly. "See you Monday."

"Have a good one."

Nancy holstered her gun – her own gun – and went to gather her things.

* * *

"His name is Michael Smith," McCall pronounced. "He has been twice convicted of breaking and entering, and once of menacing. He has been in jail three times, and he is currently on parole. He works nights and weekends at a small convenience store just across from the park."

"Which store?" Nancy asked eagerly.

Robert smiled tightly. "No, no, my dear. I found him, we follow my plan."

She nodded her reluctant assent.

McCall brought out a small map of Central Park and opened it on the counter. "The store is here," he said, pointing. "There is an entrance to the park just here. And here, along this path, there is a bridge. Now the path, as you can see, curves up and over the bridge, then curves back on the other side. A more direct route would be under the bridge, through this tunnel. There are fairly heavy woods on both sides; it would be inconvenient and slow to leave the path."

Nancy nodded. "I'm with you so far."

"Have you a little nerve left, Miss Campbell? Not a lot is required, only a little."

She swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go into the store and provoke this man. I want you to induce him to follow you out of the store and into the park."

"And then?"

"Then you will run down this path, as fast as you can. Around the curve, up over the bridge, and around the other side. Your stalker, I am fairly sure, will try to take a short cut, through the tunnel. Where I will be waiting for him."

Nancy bit her lip. "And what if he doesn't? What if he stays on the path?"

"Then I will see that, and have time to climb the far embankment and cut him off."

"You're sure?"

McCall smiled warmly. "I assure you, Nancy, you will not be in any danger from this man." He studied her for a moment. "Do you think you can do it?"

Something in the intensity of his gaze made her blush. I think I could fly to the moon if you said so, she thought vaguely. Then she shook herself mentally. What is it with you and older men all of the sudden? "I can do it," she said, with great certainty.

"Good." McCall retrieved the video tape from a shelf. "Let's go."

Nancy blinked, startled. "What, now?"

"He's working now, yes. Let's have it done with, shall we?"

"I … I …"

"We can wait," Robert allowed gently. "He is also scheduled to work tomorrow evening. But I rather thought you'd want to enjoy your weekend without the threat of his presence."

"I do. I do, you're right. Let's go."

McCall nodded his approval. "Very well."

Nancy couldn't fight down the nervous flutter in her stomach as she and McCall walked her escape path back and forth. It wasn't fear. It was excitement.

"Ready?" Robert said.

"I'm ready," Nancy said, trying to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

"On your way, then." He put the video tape in her hand. "I'll be waiting in the tunnel. And remember, if anything goes wrong, you shout and I will be there. Understand?"

"I understand."

She left him on the sidewalk just outside the park and jay-walked through heavy traffic to the little store. She paused on the sidewalk and peered through the window. He was there, the Man, looking very ordinary as he sold cigarettes to an underage boy. He had been so frightening on her turf. On his own, he was as common as dirt.

Nancy waited until the teen left, then strode into the store and up to the counter. The Man was watching the tiny black and white TV above the counter and didn't even bother to look at her. "Help you?" he asked, bored.

"No," Nancy said, "but you could have helped yourself, if you'd left me alone when I told you to."

The Man snapped around. His eyes glittered with recognition and danger. "Hey, Pretty Girl. Come back for another round?"

"Come back for the final round, Mr. Smith," she pronounced. "You're already on parole, Michael. One call, and you're back in the can."

He slapped both hands on the counter. "Don't threaten me, Pretty Girl. You don't want to threaten me."

Nancy let herself look afraid. "You threatened me, Pretty Boy. How do you like it?"

"I don't like it," he snarled. "I don't like it at all. And I'm not going back to prison, you bitch."

"Yes, you are." She brought the tape out from under her jacket. "Because I'm not just going to call your parole officer, I'm going to show him a home movie of you in my apartment. You're going back to jail, loser." Nancy turned, tossed her head, and walked out.

She glanced over her shoulder just long enough to see him come around the counter after her. Then she sprinted into traffic.

On the far sidewalk, she paused at the park entrance and looked back. He was following. He got hung up by crossing traffic, then broke across. She sprinted down the path.

Once she was in the park, Nancy didn't have to look back. She could hear his feet pounding after her on the path. He was faster than she expected. But she still wasn't afraid. It was only fifty yards to the bridge, and Mr. McCall was there, waiting for her, watching over her. She would be fine. She would be fine.

The exhilaration was overwhelming.

She loved the rush. She would never, never tell Mr. McCall that part. She had genuinely meant what she'd said, about wanting to be in the field so she could make a difference. That was all true. But there was also this. The absolute rush of the game.

She sprinted up the little hill and across the bridge. As she started down the far side, she listened intently. The footsteps behind her fell away. The Man was going for the tunnel. Nancy slowed her pace. Robert would have him now. She was eager to double back and see his face. She had no doubt that the lambasting would be memorable, and she didn't want to miss a word of it …

A gunshot barked from the tunnel.

Nancy's feet skidded as she stopped. A shot? There couldn't have been a shot. Shooting was no part of the plan. Maybe it was a car, outside the park, a backfire … no. It was distinctly a gunshot, and it had come from the tunnel.

Ah, God, Nancy thought in sudden despair, I've gotten Mr. McCall killed.

But when she turned into the tunnel, McCall was still on his feet. She sagged with relief and stepped to his side. "Mr. McCall, I heard …"

"I know what you heard," he said calmly. The gun was still in his hand. He gestured with it. The Man – Michael Smith – was in a heap at his feet. "I don't think this man will bother you any more."

The thin sheen of perspiration on Nancy's skin felt suddenly icy. Her excitement turned to confusion. "But you were just going to talk to him. You didn't say anything about …" There was bile in the back of her throat. "You killed him. You _killed_ him!"

"Yes," McCall answered coldly. "And her, too." He gestured with the gun again.

Nancy followed his gesture. In the shadow of the wall, ten feet away, there was another body on the ground. Smaller than the Man, with long brown hair …

"Lily!" Confusion turned to fear. Not again, _not again_. Nancy took a step towards her.

McCall stepped in her way. "No, no. You have no further business with her."

She stared at him. Her heart felt like lead, and it banged relentlessly in her chest. The fear from Prague was back, the panic. She was bewildered, terrified, and her first instinct was to run. Her whole body coiled in preparation. "But … but … _why_?"

McCall sighed wearily. "First of all, Mr. Smith there? He isn't – wasn't – Michael Smith. He was, in fact, Michael Kostmayer. Mickey, to his friends. Which he considered me to be. Unfortunately for him."

"Kostmayer …" she repeated in recognition.

"A Company man, of course."

"But …"

He shook his head impatiently. "Don't you get it, Nancy? It was all a game. Another of the Company's endless, idiotic games."

Nancy nodded numbly. Lily was dead, this other man – a Company man – was dead. McCall didn't care about the bodies. He was clearly insane. He had a gun in his hand. And he was talking about games.

She still wanted to run, but she knew she wouldn't make it. Run, in her mind, suddenly became, survive. The physical panic subsided enough to let her think. Stall him, the survival instinct said. "I don't understand," she said.

"I know you don't," he said wearily. "You're not really very bright, are you?" He shook his head again. "Let me draw you a picture, little one. Lily, there, she was your training agent. And she needed to know if you would come apart under pressure. Not training pressure, not nice safe exercise pressure, but _real_ pressure. To do that, she needed to create an exercise that seemed very, very real to you. So she enlisted Mr. Kostmayer to menace you."

"She … he …"

"They are very good friends," Robert said dourly. "Very good indeed. So he stalked you, frightened you. But they didn't expect you to come to me for help."

"You … killed them," Nancy managed to say. "You killed them."

"Yes. They were with the Company."

"But you're … they were your friends."

"They were with the _Company_," he repeated impatiently. "They were not my friends. There are no friends in the Company. Haven't you gotten it yet? They deceived you. Betrayed your trust. Just as they betrayed mine. Just as the entire Company betrayed mine." He moved closer, his eyes hard and dark. "Don't you get it, Nancy? They are nothing but liars and hypocrites. They will stab you in the back in a heartbeat. They will take your whole life, all your work, all your high ideas, and they will destroy you." He straightened. "So they must be stopped. All of them."

"All of them." Nancy's heart was still thudding and she could hardly focus on his words. She only knew that she needed to keep him talking.

"All of _you_," he amended. "They were a start," he said, gesturing to the two bodies. "And you. The three of you will be found here, and there will be profound consternation in the office. Confusion, and fear. But they will not suspect me. Because I am their _friend_." He sneered this last word out. "You will be the first, and then I shall kill every other Company agent I can find."

"But … but …"

"I begin with the three of you. I will end with Control. And I will kill every other agent who crosses my path."

"But you can't …"

Behind him, Lily Romanov stirred, moaned.

McCall wheeled and raised his gun. "Damn it, why aren't you dead yet?"

Nancy moved. "Don't," she snapped as she drew her own gun.

Robert turned. They stood face to face, five paces apart, their guns aimed at each other. "You won't do it," McCall said calmly. "You haven't got the nerve."

"I won't let you kill her."

He smiled coldly. "She's already dying. I doubt she'll go anywhere while I take care of you."

Nancy pulled the trigger.

The gun did not fire.

McCall laughed. "My turn."

Nancy lunged at him. She got past his gun, got one arm around his neck, her fingers ripping at his hair, and swung her useless firearm at his head with the other.

There was motion everywhere. A hand grabbed her arm behind McCall's neck. Another closed over her gun. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. Too many hands, too many voices. She pulled back sharply and stared at the three of them – McCall, Kostmayer, Romanov.

There was not a mark on any of them.

She had needed the game explained to her the first time, but now she got it in a glance. Her terror turned to rage. "It was all a set-up. All a game."

"For everyone but you," McCall – a very sane McCall again – admitted. "You did very well, young lady." He rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "Very well indeed."

Nancy looked at each of them in turn. Her gaze settled on Lily. "This was all your idea."

"Mostly.

"You bitch. You incredible bitch."

Lily shrugged.

Kostmayer took a step forward. "We haven't met." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Mickey Kostmayer."

"Fuck you," Nancy said evenly. "Fuck all of you!" She turned and strode out of the tunnel, then clambered up the hill to the path again.

In a moment they joined her. "I don't blame you for being upset," McCall said soothingly. "It's a damned dirty trick we've played on you. But there really was no other way."

"And that makes it all right, doesn't it?" Nancy snarled. "The ends justify the means, is that it?"

"I did warn you," McCall answered. "If you continue on your path with the Company, you will be forever surrounded by betrayal. The people you care for most, the ones you should be able to trust – you will never be absolutely certain that even they will not betray you. It is the life you're signing on for."

Nancy glared at him. She raked her gaze past Kostmayer again. He was looking away from her, and she had the distinct impression he was amused. She looked again to Lily. "Well?" she demanded. She was shaking with rage now. "Did I pass? Can I do the job?"

Lily considered her for a long moment. "It's not my decision," she answered finally. "It's yours. Can you live like this? _Can_ you do the job?"

"I can …"

"No," Lily interrupted. "Don't answer now. Go home, spend the weekend, think about it. _Really_ think about it. No illusions. No glamour. Just the job. Think, and tell me on Monday."

Nancy glared harder at her. The older woman seemed utterly unimpressed. None of them, in fact, seemed very impressed. They were probably already thinking about where to go for a post-game beer.

For the first time she saw them. These people who she thought had cared about her were nothing but cold, and probably nothing but killers.

And she was trying to join their world.

Furious, hurt, and more frightened than she had been through her whole ordeal, Nancy turned and fled.


	10. Chapter 10

Kostmayer stood to one side of the concourse just outside Customs, lightly balanced on his feet, his hands behind his back. Blue jeans, leather jacket, perfectly casual.

Twenty yards away, two nervous cops had taken positions where they could watch him. They weren't being very subtle about it. They had also shared not-very-furtive warnings about him with the Customs agents.

Mickey wondered, not for the first time, what it was about him that made him seem so dangerous to some people. After all, he was basically a nice guy. Most of the time.

Just as long as nobody asked Nancy Campbell about that, at least for a day or two.

Kostmayer wiggled his eyebrows at the cops and looked away.

He straightened when he saw the red-head, and braced himself against her tackling embrace. "Hey, beautiful," he said warmly, trying to get his arms under her camera bags and around his fiancée's body.

Annie Keller didn't answer, for a moment, because her mouth was busy exploring his. She finally seemed satisfied of his identity. "You didn't have to come all the way out here to get me."

"It's raining."

"I won't melt."

Kostmayer shrugged. "Couldn't take the chance."

"You missed me," Annie accused teasingly.

"Me? No."

"You did. Admit it, you missed me."

"Nah. Not my style."

"Uh-huh." She dumped two of her bags unceremoniously onto his arms. "Make yourself useful. You missed me and you know it."

"Sweetie," Mickey answered, shouldering the bags, "I been so busy chasing other women, I hardly knew you were gone."

Annie glanced at him. "You're lying, of course."

"Call Lily. She'll back me up."

"If you said the world was flat, Lily would back you up." She bumped her bags against his. "Come on, admit it. You missed me."

Mickey thought about it to the end of the concourse. "Maybe a little," he finally admitted.

"Uh-huh," Annie answered smugly. "I knew it."

"But just a little."

"Uh-huh."

"And I _was _chasing another woman."

"Sure you were."

"I was."

"If you say so, Mickey."

* * *

Control turned off his headlights when he turned onto the cabin's winding drive. It was dark, raining, but he knew every turn of the twisting, climbing little road. It was just a precaution.

Outside the cabin, he parked the car and looked around. There was smoke from the chimney and light peeked around the edges of the tightly-drawn shades. Lily was here already. There was no sign of her car. She wouldn't have brought the Mercedes; there would be something rented under an assumed name in the little shed. He studied the woods around the clearing. Nothing alarmed him. Just the rain on the new leaves.

Just a precaution. Her message had said there was nothing to be alarmed about.

He went into the cabin.

It was bright and warm. As expected, a cheerful fire burned in the fireplace. The cabin smelled like roasting chicken and potatoes – and perhaps apple pie. Control frowned. Lily was a perfectly capable cook, when she put her mind to it. But she didn't, very often. It was probably not a good sign.

She came out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand and her gun in the other.

"Because you're such a splendid shot when you're sober?" Control teased.

"Smart-ass," she answered. She put the gun on the side table by the couch. "Just for that I'm going to drink your wine."

She took a drink. He crossed the room, caught her in his arms, pressed his lips against hers and shared the wine in her mouth. "Hello, love."

"Hi."

"What's wrong?"

"Wine, dinner, pie. Then serious talk."

"Lily."

She slid out of his arms. "At least take your tie off."

He did so, and his jacket, too. "Happy?"

Lily nodded. "Simms is sending me back to the field full-time."

"The hell he is."

"_Kedves_ …"

"No, Lily," he replied firmly. "I won't have it. I will not. You've done wonderful work with the logistical plans. He needs you here. _I _need you here." He shook his head. "I'll talk to him on Monday."

"And say what?" Lily prompted gently.

"That he needs you here," Control repeated firmly. "That he's not sending you back out there full-time. Especially not now. Central Europe is nothing but a hell hole, and it's getting worse every minute. Look what happened to Vince Norris, and Prague is one of the most stable cities in the Bloc … I won't have it, Lily. It's much too dangerous. You're not going." He took the wine glass she offered. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

Lily simply waited.

"I know what you're thinking," Control continued. He took a deep drink and swallowed. "You're thinking that if I make a fuss about this, Simms may become suspicious." He knew now why she'd called him. She'd wanted to tell him herself, so he had time to prepare his response for Simms. Good girl.

"More suspicious," she corrected.

"I don't care. I don't care what he thinks, or what he thinks he knows. You're not going back there. Not all the time. It's too damn dangerous."

"So we should send expendable people instead? People like Nancy Campbell, who have no experience and limited wits?"

"I didn't say that."

"Someone has to do this work, love."

He stared at her. "You _want_ to go."

Lily swallowed. "I don't want to leave you, _kedves_. But the work needs to be done, and I'm really good at it. If anybody can get in and out of there alive now, it's me. And we both know it."

"You want to go."

She looked down and away. "Tell me to stay and I will."

Control continued to stare at her. He wanted to argue about this. He wanted her to dig in her heels and fight. He knew how to fight with Lily. He was damn good at fighting with her. But this – this passive submission, in pose and in words – this he didn't know how to fight against.

And she damn well knew it.

He drained the wine glass, drew his arm back. Then resisted the urge to fling it into the cozy fire. He'd just have to clean it up later, anyhow. "Lily …" he said sadly.

She looked up. "It's what I do," she said quietly. "It's what I am."

"No." He shook his head. "You are so much more than the job. How can you even think that now? You're my world, Lily. And if I lose you …"

She waited, in silence. Say the word, he knew. Say one word and she will stay. Without protest, without a word of reproach, ever. One word.

She wanted to go.

He closed his eyes. "Ah, Lily. My sweet love."

Her hand touched his. "Please," she said, very quietly. "Please, please understand."

"I do." His hand closed over hers, crushing hard. He dropped the wine glass to the rug and wrapped her fiercely in his arms. "I do understand, Lily. I do. I know you have to go. But you have to promise you'll come back to me. I cannot bear to lose you."

Lily looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. She couldn't promise she'd come back. She could only promise that she'd try. And they both knew that, too. "Did Robert ever tell you what I told him about us?"

"No."

"When I first met him, he tried to tell me that it couldn't last, that I'd end up alone sooner or later. And I told him that I didn't care. That I would take whatever time I had with you, ten years or ten minutes. And when it's over I won't regret a minute of it."

He thought about it while he held her, while he could feel the warmth and strength of her body against his. "No," he finally said. "It's not enough. Ten years is not enough. A hundred years would not be enough." He kissed her hair. "But you're right. I'll take whatever we have. And try not to waste any of it."

"You are so wonderfully reasonable," Lily answered, lifting her mouth to his.

I'm not, Control thought fiercely. I am not at all reasonable. No reasonable man would be here at all.

But he was not going to leave one minute sooner than he had to.

* * *

Simms took a deep breath and walked into his boss' office. "Talk to you a minute?"

"Sit," Control ordered. He shuffled papers ineffectively. "Damn it, where is that … what's on your mind?"

"Romanov."

Control stopped shuffling and looked up. "What's she done this time?"

"Nothing, that I know of."

"Hmmm."

Simms felt his gut clenching. "I'm putting her back in the field full-time."

Control went back to shifting papers. "Here it is," he said, with quiet triumph, pulling a sheet to the top. "Who's going to do the logistics planning?"

"She'll continue to do some. I'll do the rest."

The older man sat back and considered. Here it comes, Simms thought. If he's really sleeping with her, here's where he makes his stand. It would, no doubt, be prettily wrapped in logic, but he would not let her go back to the field.

"You need an assistant," Control pronounced.

Simms licked his lips. "Sir?"

"Go down to the pool, find yourself an assistant. If you're going to be adding this to your workload, at least you don't need to type your own reports. Take a designated assistant."

None of the other lieutenants had their own secretaries. Simms recognized this offer – order? – as the step up in status that it was.

He was being rewarded for putting Romanov back on the road?

What the hell was going on?

"Ahh … thank you, sir."

"Stop sleeping on your couch."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you tell Romanov yet?"

"Yes, sir. On Friday."

Control nodded thoughtfully. "She's going to wrap up the Campbell matter first, right?"

"She's to report in on that today."

"I'd like to hear her report. Call me."

"Yes, sir."

Control went back to his papers. Simms sat. "Something else?" Control finally asked.

Simms hesitated. "I gave Romanov the option of declining." His superior's eyebrow climbed, and he explained, "She's paid her dues. If she didn't want to go …" He shrugged. "She didn't argue about going. But she did say something rather interesting. She said it was starting to wear her down, and that she could see a time coming when she wouldn't be able to do it any more."

"She told you that?"

"Yes." Simms shrugged again. "I thought it was a rather remarkable piece of self-awareness. Most of our agents don't know they're burned out until years after everyone around them does."

Control nodded. "Interesting. And worth remembering. If she ever comes in and tells you she's done …"

"I'm not going to argue with her," Simms finished. "Exactly. That's why I wanted you to know."

"Thank you. That's useful."

Simms stood up. He was more confused now than ever. He'd been sure news of Romanov's transfer would get a protest from the boss. Instead, he'd gotten a promotion. And rather a large compliment.

He was reading the situation wrong. He had to be.

"Go find an assistant," Control said.

Simms went.

* * *

Just before lunch, Lily Romanov sat in Control's office with him and Simms, with the door closed, and told them in hysterical detail about the training exercise that had gone so marvelously astray.

The door to Control's office slammed open. Nancy Campbell stormed over to his desk, unsurprised and undeterred by the gun that appeared in his hand. "Put that away," she ordered. "Now _look_. I am sick to death of everybody around here making decisions about my life without even consulting me. I know you're in here talking about me, deciding what I can and cannot do." She swept her glared around to Simms and Romanov, then turned it back on Control. "Were you even going to bother asking _me_ whether I can still do this job?"

"No," Control answered bluntly. He placed the gun on his desk.

"Well you should," the woman rampaged on. "Because what happened to Vince Norris was not my fault, and I'm not going to take the blame for it. And yes, I freaked out, if you had your friend's brains all over you you'd freak out, too. It happened. It's over. And all these games you people play, all this sneaking around and lying and all that, I don't care. Bring it on." She raised one finger warningly at Control. "I can play your games, and I can do this job, and you are _not_ going to keep me from it. I'm going to be a _damn_ good agent, and you are _damn_ well going to give me the chance to prove it!"

She ran out of words, and out of steam. She became, by inches, aware that she was waving her finger in the face of the most dangerous man she'd ever met. That his blue eyes were raking over her like razors, as if he could see every single thought she'd ever had. Those blue eyes, that had been so warm, were suddenly ice. The gun was right there. All he had to do was pick it up and shoot her. He had doubtless done such things before, and probably on less provocation …

"All right," he said, very softly.

Nancy staggered. "All right?"

"Knock next time."

"I … I …"

"Out," he prompted gently.

She took her victory and fled.

Control looked across his desk. Lily was not laughing, but a quirky smile kept teasing at the edges of her mouth. "I blame you for this," he said sternly.

She shook her head. "You're the one who gave her to me."

He sighed deeply and turned back to the papers before them.

* * *

Robert, for one, found the tale of Nancy Campbell's storming of Control's office quite entertaining. "You might have known," he told his friend, "that she'd turn out that way if you gave her to Lily."

Control nodded grimly. "Just what I needed. Another one."

McCall sobered. "It is, actually. You need as many of them as you can get."

"I know." Control took a long drink of his friend's excellent Scotch. "I know."

"What is it?" Robert asked. "What's bothering you?"

Control considered his drink, and the light fixture, and the painting on the wall, moving only his eyes, swiftly, anywhere but at his old friend. Lily had left him before dawn; it was after sunset, and he could still taste her kiss, through the whiskey he shared with his oldest friend. He sighed and drank again. "She's gone back to full active duty."

"Lily?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't aware she wasn't already on full active."

Control glanced at him. "She's been coordinating logistics and communications for the past six months. Spending half her time here, sometimes more."

"At a desk."

"Yes. But now she's … gone back to the field."

Robert considered his own drink. "That can't come as a surprise to you," he ventured.

"No. I suppose not." Control's elegant fingers tapped the side of his glass absently. "It was Simms' idea, but she didn't put up much of an argument."

"Did you?"

Another pause. "Not with Simms, no."

"Control …"

"When I told Irena Norris that her husband was dead," Control went on suddenly, "the whole time I was telling her, all I could think about was how damn glad I was that Lily was there with me. That she was right there where I could see her, where I could feel her heart beat, where I _knew_ she wasn't in any danger. This poor woman – her husband dead, her children's father dead, and all I could think about was keeping Lily safe."

"That's not really surprising," McCall offered.

"I couldn't stand to lose her again, Robert. I honestly don't think I could live without her."

Robert turned and leaned forward. "Did you tell her that?"

His friend's blue eyes turned on him then, tormented. "If I told her, she wouldn't go."

"Then why in bloody hell …"

"I _can't_," Control shouted. "I can't put her on a shelf! I can't ask her to change everything that she does – everything that she _is_ – for me." His anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "I can't, Robert."

"Not even to keep her safe?"

After a long moment, Control shook his head. "Not even to keep her safe." He drained his glass and placed it gently back on the table. His manner became suddenly brisk. "So tell me, Old Son, how is it that I came to this place, where the least selfish thing I can do is let her risk her life?"

"You had an affair with a subordinate," Robert answered bluntly. Control scowled. "You knew exactly what she was when you started this, Control. You always knew what she was."

"And she always knew what I was," Control answered, nearly a whisper. "And that made her irresistible." He put his forearms on the table and leaned towards his friend. "'If one loves, one loves the whole person as he or she is, and not as one might wish them to be.'"

"Tolstoy," Robert identified at once.

Control nodded. "Give me wisdom, Robert. You have been her moral compass, and mine. Tell me what's right now. Tell me the greater good. Do I ask her to live, as a shadow of herself, but alive? Or do I let her be what she is, and risk everything? Tell me, Robert. Tell me where I go from here. Tell me what to do."

"Control, I …"

"Give me wisdom, Robert."

McCall considered for a long, long moment. Then he shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, my friend. I don't have any to give."

Control threw himself back in his chair, shaking his head as well.

At a loss for any better solution, Robert reached for the bottle and poured them both another drink.

* * *

The fresh-faced American girls stepped off the train in Gdansk, jostling together, their backpacks overloaded, and likely their wallets, too.

Nancy looked around, nervous and excited and ready to go. "Which way?"

Lily pointed towards an exit. "There's a youth hostel up the street there."

"A youth hostel. This really is the glamorous life, isn't it?"

"Well," Lily mused, adjusting her pack, "you know what Helen Keller said."

"'Life is either a daring adventure or nothing'," Nancy quoted at once.

"That," Lily agreed. "And also, 'Who the hell rearranged all the furniture?'"

Nancy laughed out loud. "That's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

"It's a little funny."

"It's not."

"You're laughing."

"Yeah, but it's not funny, it's sick."

"Oh, sweetie, you haven't _begun_ to hear the sick jokes I know."

"I think I want to go home."

Lily laughed. "Yeah, we'll get around to that. Let's go."

She trudged across the platform towards the street. Nancy shifted her pack, looked around one more time, and followed.

* * *

THE END


End file.
